The Tearing of Oscar Monet

The Day Before

It happens every time I breath with my mouth open. It sounds like someone tearing a piece of paper, but from inside me. I have Discerpens Cordis. Translated from Latin it is Tearing of the Heart. Discerpens Cordis is extremely rare, as in there are only three known cases of it. Myself being of them. The drugs they give me are slowing down the process, but I know I don't have very long to live. A dose of Fortitudine every hour has some pretty crappy side effects. Almost permanent exhaustion, nausea and aches, but I guess that's better than dead.

•••
"Oscar, honey?" Oscar's mom knocked on his bedroom door. He groaned, the tearing sound filling the air. Oscar let his down, rocket ship comforter envelope him completely. "Oscar you have to get up. Dr. Munce will be here any second." His mother had scheduled another appointment with the insipid Doctor. Dr. Munce was quite a bore, voice always the same pitch and tone. Gray eyes staring out behind thick glasses. A loud knock on the door startled Oscar from his cogitation. Dr. Munce swung open the door, not bothering to say hello. She lumbered over to Oscar and set down her bags. She fished out a black machine and held it to his chest. Oscar wasn't unfamiliar with this device. Dr. Munce used it regularly, though he couldn't conjure up it's name. Normally, the machine would do its scan of his heart and then beep, a small green light flickering. But this time, it didn't. The contraption met out a tumultuous shriek and flashed red. A digital code blinked on it's screen.
"What does that mean?" Mrs. Monet asked, her voice noticeably tense.
"Six days." Dr. Munce did not seem phased by whatever the news was, good or bad.
"W-what?"
"Six days," She repeated, packing up her things. "and then he dies."