❦ WINNER OF THE RIVETING WRITING CONTEST ❦
OLIVER IS DYING
With only months left to live at just seventeen, Oliver spends his remaining days of endless tests and debilitating drugs in the St. Andrews paediatrics ward planning his impending funeral...
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SUMMER in the park where all of this began has always been a serene place for me.
A grey path cuts through the verdant park, oak and clusters of cedar trees reining over the greenery.
Squeals and laughs from the playground nearby keeps the silence at bay—bright-eyed kids conquering the highest of heights on the swings, breaking the boundaries of architecture in the sandpit and spinning around and around until the world blurs on the roundabouts under the warmth of the sunshine. Parents watch them with wide, glowing smiles of joy.
Under the welcoming shade of the trees with their intoxicating scent of freshness, perfumes of flowers and the summer breeze filling the air, plaid picnic blankets are spread out with baskets, families enjoying each other's company eating salads off plastic plates. Boys and their fathers are tossing frisbees and footballs to each other, the fathers praising the boys with each throw.
Exercise groups are taking full advantage of the beautiful afternoon as they move in unison to an upbeat soundtrack.
On the far side under a towering oak tree, six easels scattered among the shade are perching canvases with painters sitting before them, slashing the white with colors.
Benches are scattered out among the painted green and foliage. I sit on one of empty ones in full view of everything.
This place is where it all started.
This is where I met Hunter.
He was something else.
He was the classic, perfect man every rom-com fanatic dreams about—honest and kind, patient and reliable, caring, always willing to do the best for those he cared about.
He was also a man of his word.
When you asked him to keep a promise, he did it wholeheartedly. When you asked him to keep something to himself, he did it, even if it put him in a compromising position, even at the sacrifice of his own feelings.
But he was also like a fox.
He was fun and dangerous and like a drug you get hooked on so fast there's no coming down off the high gently.
Hunter was just that kind of person.
He was loyal. He was selfless. He was good.
He was perfect. Just perfect.
And I loved him.
Not in that bromance, best friend way. I mean, it was that way at first. But then it changed.
I loved him in the romance way. The boyfriend way, because that's what he was.
He was my boyfriend.
Clichés and all, I've always known one way or another that there was something different about me.
I've had girlfriends and crushes on girls. I've had relationships. But there's always been this niggling feeling in the back of my head telling me that it isn't right.
