M. A. L. I. K

Chapter 1- Gym Class

Happiness. A scarce is occurrence
in my life
_____

I hate biology so much that I've never been early for a class. Its ironic though, because I happen to be the only person in my grade to have a perfect A-point average in the subject. Now, I'm sitting in Room 103 one hour and thirty minutes before biology starts. Shocker, right? I glance outside the window towards the flower beds. The bougainvillea looks well tended to, apart for one. Contrary to the rest, it's leaves are wilting and drooping. It's dying. Well, today's different.

Its been three years since she died.
_____

"No! Not my baby! Not my little girl!"
This was Mum's mantra three hours before Marlyn died. My sister was eleven months older than me, barely a year apart. We were both fourteen when she died. I mean, I knew Marlyn was sick, but... I didn't know leukemia killed so fast.

Mum was at work when she got a call from school informing her that Marlyn had fainted during gym class and had been rushed to the hospital. I got pulled from class too. Long story short, we got to the hospital in time to hear her last words:

"Dying flowers are the prettiest. Love you guys"
Just like that, she was gone.
_____
I didn't even notice that I'd been crying. It's been like this ever since she died; I see something minor that reminds me of her and I get sucked into this flashback-trance. I haven't been back to Marlyn's grave since her funeral. I just don't think I can bear to face her again. I was supposed to go to the cemetery with Mum this morning, but... I just couldn't. That's why I'm early for class.
***
Its only fifteen minutes into second period and I already feel like the walking dead. I'm on the bench in gym class watching my mates warm up while most of the guys are playing basketball with the girls.
Girls like Chloe Valentine, the blonde beauty of Brockhurst High, are acting like they don't know the first thing about the game so that boys like Chris Bryant can teach them. Shirtless.
Beats me why I even dragged my ass down here. I could have ditched.

"Alright losers, settle down. Time for some real sport," Coach Gun announces.
Personally, I think Coach is great. She's short and petite, but her shouts can start World War III.
"Dodgeball! Reds versus Blues! GO!"
See? Told you she shouts alot.

My team, the blues, have most of the balls so it looks like we've got the upper hand. Even though I feel like shit right now, I never turn down a good game. That's why I'm giving it my all.
I watch my aim and throw the ball towards Chloe.
It hits her square in the face and she gives me some serious stank-eye as she flounce off the court.

Sorry, sweatheart.

Coach shouts "Out!"
I just smirk.

I dodge one ball, two balls, three. There are only a handful of us left in the game.
I think Chris is pissed about me hitting Chloe, which I technically didn't do.
It was the ball.
He's throwing some serious shade right at me. What? Not my fault her fake eyelashes made her too blind to see the on-coming ball. I try throwing a ball at him, but he dodges it.

Finally, someone who can play the game

If Chris wasn't made before, he's furious right now because he throws a ball with a little too much force right at me. It hits me square between the eyes and I'm on the hard, flat ground.

I can't stand up. Not because I don't want to. I can't. My vision's gone blurry and I feel weak and nauseated. Black dots begin to dance before my eyes and bike pools in my mouth. Still, I try to stand but I can't. That's when Coach Gun sees that something's wrong. Really wrong. She rushes over.

"Don't just stand there. Go get the nurse!"

A small crowd has gathered around me and all Coach's shouting really isn't helping my throbbing head. I black out.
_____
I wake up at home, in bed with Mum watching over me. At first, she's pacing and she looks super worried, but when she notices I'm awake, she plasters a weak smile on her face.

"How are you doing, sweetie?"

What I hate the most? When people sugar-coated stuff and try to lie to me. I'm seventeen, not seven. I know when I'm being pacified which is exactly what Mum is doing now.
As usual, I okay along and act accordingly.

"My head hurts. Badly"

Mum's a psychologist, so she of all people knows how to smile and act like everything's fine when they're really crashing and burning to ash.
But now...now, the fake smile drops off her face and her light-brown skin looks paler than usual.

"Malik, it looks like we're gonna have to start chemotherapy a but sooner than we originally planned"

Her eyes mist over and gleam with the threat of tears.
"I'm sorry, baby"

Did I mention that I have leukemia too? No? Well, I do. There's a cancer gene in Dad's bloodline. Looks like the dominant one picked me. Lucky me, right?

People my age who have cancer normally write a long bucket list of all the crazy things they wanna do before they kick the bucket.
No pun intended.
Its delusional-thinking. They deceive themselves into thinking they won't die while the carcinogens eat them up day by day. I don't wanna be like that.
All chemotherapy is gonna do is buy me time. What's the point?
I'm gonna die anyways.

A. N
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... Solology™
Word count: 984