When you're a child, life is made up of endless possibilities. You are faced with little tasks, easy things. Learning to read and write, count and play. Your naive mind has yet to be exposed to the real terrors of the world. The terrors that your parents are supposed to hide from you, to keep that mind unaware. To keep it free. You're not afraid of feeling lost, getting sick, being alone. The only fears in your life are the monsters under the bed. But even then, all you have to do to overcome that fear, is to face them to realize they were never there in the first place. The thing is for me, sometimes my monster is there, and sometimes it isn’t, and that I cannot control.

The first time my monster came was about three months ago.

I wake up to the faint sound of beeping from the monitor next to me. I stretch my limbs and attempt the untangle them from the uncomfortable position I had drifted off in.  How long have I been asleep? I wonder looking around only to find an empty room, separated by curtains on either side. I can barely comprehend how I managed to fall asleep considering the distractingly loud sound of people surrounding me from beyond the curtains. Well, I suppose I have gotten rather used to it. I lift up both of my fists to rub my eyes, coming to the conclusion that I am fully awake, and detach myself from the IV jabbing out of the side of my arm. Both feet lift up out of the bed and onto the floor taking the rest of my body with them. I walk out of the room to meet the rest of what has been my world for the last few weeks.  I spot my dad talking with Dr. Robinson, I mean that isn’t something unusual, but I still get a bad feeling from the expressions coming from both their faces, and my curiosity gets the best of me.

“Leukemia?” my dad asks as he grabs his hair in his hands tightly, worrying not only about his daughter's health, but more so about how in the world is he going to afford all of these treatments.  
“Yes, I’m very sorry.” Dr. Robinson responded placing his hand on Dad’s shoulder. My stomach drops and my face melts. It’s the type of thing you read about, see on tv, but you never imagine hearing the words being directed at you. Leukemia- A cancer of blood-forming tissues, hindering the body's ability to fight infection. Those are just a bunch fancy words for you're not going to be okay.  

“What?” I can barely squeeze the words out of my dry mouth. Their heads both turn to me, looking like a deer in the headlights, not realizing I had been standing there the entire time. Not necessarily the most ideal way to tell your 14-year-old patient they have cancer.
“You said I just had a bad fever...” I ask this question quite quietly, still trying to process what is going on, but also upset by the fact that this doctor tried to hide me from the truth.
“I wanted to be sure” Dr. Robinson took a slow step towards me. I could tell he was  trying  to sound sympathetic, but I also knew that he must do this all the time. Telling people they’re sick must be something he does everyday.
“You liar!” Tears start to form in my eyes as I shout the words at the doctor. All eyes fall on me as I turn around, and start to run through the hospital halls, hoping I can somehow run away from my problems.
“Josephine!” Dr. Robinson yells in my direction.
“Joey!” My dad shouts after him.
But it doesn’t matter, nothing does. As I run through the hospital, I feel as if everything is in slow motion. I can hear every foot step circling around me, every drop of water dripping from the sink.  My brain is already telling me I'm sick. Cause that's what cancer is right? Sick. My stomach gurgles and I feel as if I am going to throw up my entire insides. Tears start to sting in my eyes threatening to fall onto the thin hospital gown wrapped around me, I realize that one piece of pitiful clothing is what the majority of my wardrobe will consist of for the rest of my life. But I guess that won’t be very long will it. I don’t even try to contain the fear and pain that is eating me alive, I trip over my own two feet, and go plunging to the ground, to meet the slick tile of the hospital floor. Nurses surround me, some trying to restrain while others are calling for help. But I don’t do anything, I don’t try to fight them, all I do is lay there until I am pulled into a black abyss.

     *     *     *

I sit crossed legged on my hospital bed, a pen in one hand and paper in the other as I scribble aimlessly on to it. I used to enjoy art, not only was I inspired, but I wanted to inspire, but now I can’t feel anything, I have no drive to create. I realize that in order to prevent hurt, I have to stop caring about things that used to fill me with excitement. People who are careless once cared too much, hurt or be hurt right? Dr. Robinson is walking by, and notices my long red hair from the hallway outside. He then peered his head through the curtain, and advanced towards me nervously. He sits at the edge of the bed gazing at the images I’m creating on the page.

“Hmm, what’s that one of?” He asked pointing to an image that to him, probably just looks like scribbles.
“A tornado.” I say sarcastically, not expecting him to take me seriously, then continue to add to it.
“And this one?” He points to imagine next to it.
“A circle.” I have a blank expression on my face, why is he here, why does he care? I wish he would just go away.
“Just a circle? Come on be more creative!” He nudges my shoulder playfully which causes a not too amused expression to appear on my face.
“Ugh, fine it’s ah-- a planet.”
“Hmm. A tornado and a planet.” I raise my eyebrows in annoyance. Like duh. Aren't you supposed to be the smart one?
“You know there are tornado’s in space. That's how stars are born.” Wow, this guys must think I am an idiot. Dr. Robinson turns to walk out of the door leaving me alone on the bed. He stops at the door once he hears my voice from behind, but does not turn around.
“Am I going to die?” Tears start to build up in my eyes but I refuse to let them fall. Dr. Robinson sighs, but still does not turn around, for he already knows the answer.
“Just tell me.” 

??   

Every morning when I look in the mirror, I always contemplate the same question. I debate to myself whether or not to ever look in the mirror again. I don’t want my bald head to remind myself of my misfortune but at the same time, I don’t want to lie to myself either. I know the reality and I don’t need anyone especially me, to hide it.  Dark black makeup is caked all around my eyes, I decided to use the black to hide my bags. It’s hard to sleep when you know that you're days are numbered, why waste my time. As I exit my room, I see my father passed out on the couch after a long night of playing poker at the bar. Or as I like to call it,  gambling all of our money away as he drinks the night away. I stand there looking at him for a second, pure disgust written in my eyes. I don’t want nor expect much in my life, but if there is one thing I do hope, it’s that I don’t end up like him. I make my way through the kitchen then am left with the slam of the screen door, stepping outside to meet the schoolbus. Before I leave I turn around to observe my home, (the term home is being used loosely) The house basically consists of wood walls, stained white windows, and screen doors, located in the cooky cutter part of town. The kind of place you live in because you have to, not because you want to.

              *     *     *

As I walk through the halls of the school I notice dozens of eyes plastered onto me, I have been bald for a while now,but that doesn’t stop the staring. My cancer defines me. Usually staring is the closest thing I get to socializing with my school peers, considering usually after I use or touch something, that object is to be avoided by others. I mean, I could just tell them that my cancer isn’t contagious, but I’ll admit it’s funny seeing them all freak out once they find out after they get a drink that I had just used that water fountain. But it doesn’t make it hurt less. When the clock strikes 8:45am, I slam my locker shut and run up the stairs that lead to the roof of the school. As I step off the final step, I see pretty much my only friend Sam, sitting on the edge waiting for me. I sit next to him then start digging through my bag and pull out a lighter and a pack of cigarettes. I stick the cigarette in my mouth and light it, blowing the smoke out slowly.

“Should you really be doing that?” Sam chuckles, shaking his head.
“Who cares.” I mumble as I continue to blow out the smoke.
“So how long?” He asks suddenly getting semi serious shifting his gaze to his feet, almost instantly regretting the question after he said it.
“A few days.” I respond blankly looking at the horizon. I don’t enjoy discussing my cancer with Sam, it makes me feel...vulnerable he is the only person who actually cares.
“So what’s it like?”
“What’s what like? Cancer? It sucks. It makes you pissed off at the world for making you deal with it. People think that the only thing we have to deal with is the disease,” I shake my head and look at my dusty converse shoes covering my feet.
“They don’t get it. You know, you always hear those “Inspirational success stories”  where the survivors say it makes you appreciate life more. It doesn’t. I mean if I am going to die in a few days why not now?! I hate long waits.” Sam head turns to face mine and I look up at his sympathetic face, we have what may be called...a moment. Quickly I snap back into reality, standing up abruptly.
“We-- ah-- I should get to class.” I turn around and timely start to run down the stairs. Sam looks back at me confused, a smile slowly growing on his face.
“Since when do you care about being late?” He asks jokingly following me down the stairs.
I get to the hall first, but am quickly stopped by a group of three girls. Ashlyn, Kate, and Heather, the three most popular girls in school, and the most ruthless. 
“What are you doing talking to him?” Ashlyn asks standing in front of the others with her hand on her hip showing off all of her expensive couture jewelry.
“Why do you care?” I respond trying to pass the three girls, but they all step back in front of me in unisit.
“Oh stop, I know I a crush when I see one. You're confusing him, he probably thinks hanging out with you is like community service or something.” Ashlyn spats back at me while Kate and Heather just nod in agreement, most likely to scared to actually speak.
“We’re just friends…”
“You better be, because he’s taken.” Kate and Heather both turn their heads to look at her confused. Ashlyn kicks her heeled foot back at them, scaring their faces back to normal, so they didn’t give her away.
“Really?” I ask sarcastically bobbing my head backwards with a grin growing on my face.
“Yes! We’re unofficial,” Ashlyn turns to Kate and Heather and glares subtlely at them, so they both nod their heads in agreement.
“Right, because he doesn’t know about it.” I will admit, I was pretty proud of that but all I earned was a glare from Ashlyn and a confused look from Kate and Heather.
“Besides, he likes brunettes and you're well...you know.” She gestures to my bald head. Just as I am about to raise my fist and destroy that precious face of hers, Sam finally approaches from down the stairs. He slows his pace and a look of concern appears on his face when he see’s all of us talking.
“Everything...okay?” He asks, switching his gaze from me to Ashlyn, then back to me.
“Yes, everything is great. Sam, I didn’t know you and Joey were a thing!” I raise my hand up shyly to object but before I can get the words out Sam begins to speak.
“We’re not.” Sam’s eyes meet mine, and without speaking, I plead him for help. He then looks back at Ashlyn and in that moment makes his decision.
“...She was like forcing me to hang out with her.”
Ashlyn grins and moves over to link her arms with his. I turn around angrily, I want to cry but I will not. He was just a person, I have better things to cry over. I exit from the back door of the school leading out to a field just beyond a river side. I walk through the tall wheat til I reach the river, throwing my bag down and sitting in the mud gazing down at the stream below my feet, staring at the rocks in the water.

Sometimes my life feels like a circle. A never ending, ongoing, series of pain, and I don’t know how to stop it, or slow it down, or break it. Even though I am going to die in a few days, I feel as if this pain will never stop. I always wondered what dying would feel like, lucky for me, I am soon to find out, if it is anything like life, then perhaps like usual I won't feel anything at all. How do you prepare for something like that? How do you say goodbye, when there is so much left to be introduced to?

I hear faint noises of giggling coming from behind me. I turn my head to witness a family playing by in the fields. A father was throwing the golden retriever a ball while the mother was laughing with their daughter who was a spitting image of the both of them. I realised that this was never going to be my life. But in a way that's a good thing, then I would have so much more to lose. I don’t know much about my mom, just everything a crinkled up photo that I found in dad’s sock drawer can tell you. Usually I try not to miss her because I know if I do it means she wins. If she wanted to know me she would have, I guess she never imagined my life to turn out this bad. It’s hard when you miss someone, but at least when you do you know you had someone in your life worth missing, sometimes the worst goodbyes are the ones never said, never explained.  A life consists of a variety of moments. It depressing to know that these are my last, and they consisted of pitiful drama where of course I ended up losing. When you're watching say you're grandfather die, you want to make their last moments happy right? So you are very sweet and kind to them. But why aren't people like that all the time? Because, you never know when someone's moments are going to be their last.