A Whisper

Chapter 3

dreams to find that he is not in my reality. I got up slowly to make sure that my body didn't feel weak as it did yesterday. My room was the only room on the top floor. A spiral staircase connected my room and the living room. The fireplace radiated its heat into every room with a warm glow. It was mid-autumn. We lived in England and the year was 1951. Fortunately, for me, it rained an immense amount here. My mother, Aurora, has lived here her entire life. She met my father, Bradley, when she was little; they grew up together. My mother is beautiful; her red hair radiated as she walked into any room. Her smile was the only sunshine that I was allowed to bask in. My father is a great man, he loves his family and for that reason is why he works day and night. My mother has no choice, but to stay home and take care of me. The cost of medicine and Doctor Ann is unbelievable, and so my father works hours on end. I finished my schooling last year; I had been home schooled. I liked to help around the house, but lately I've been feeling really weak. My body constantly aches and my mind feels like it's spinning around with thoughts of what could be, but never will. My disease holds me back in so many ways. Which brings me back to him; I wonder why such perfection chooses to save my life. I am nothing special. I am an ordinary 5'5", 19 year old, ginger; who happens to be dying. In reality we are all dying; some are just more noticeable than others. The way I'm dying is painful, but how I see it, it's beautiful. This disease will never win over me, for he who loves me is strong enough to overcome it. I'm not positive why this perfect man takes favour in me, yet I am still very grateful. I walked down the spiral staircase to find my lovely mother reading her favourite novel, again. She sits with her bright red hair pulled back. My father went to work early this morning. My dog, Brittany, is a golden retriever. Brittany lies on my mom's lap, panting and whining. My mother hasn't noticed that I was up, so I stood there and watched her eyes fill with excitement with every page turn. The moment she noticed me, she marked her page and greeted me.  My mother is so good to me; I adore her. She didn't quite understand my pain, yet I never blamed her for that. She got up and made me breakfast and insisted that I'd eat. After an attack, my body longed for food and sleep because I felt absolutely exhausted. Ann would come over at noon, right after lunch and give me my medicine. Once a week she'd take blood. After I ate and Ann gave me my medication, I started writing short poems in my library. When you entered my room, where my closet is suppose to be I insisted that there would be a library. Since I've been getting worse and it seems like close to the end, my parents fulfilled my wish. It is a good size library stocked full of books on all sides with eight foot tall shelves. My desk is in the center of this room and a hammock in the far left side. I sat there and wrote notes to him; they read about my adoration and gratitude for this man in my mind. My soul was filled with joy as I wrote to him, because I often felt like he would talk to me in my times of need, and so this was my way of speaking to him. Thoughts of him wrapped around my mind. His love wrapped around my heart keeping it in tact and he gave me breath for my lungs. I had a box of all of my letters to him. 

"It beacons within the deepest part of my soul

Calling out your name

You are wrapped within my thoughts 

To keep me sane

In my lungs

To keep me breathing

And in my heart

To keep it from stop beating"

            He finds me when I'm in the dark. My lonely soul wanders into his arms. The warmth of his presence sets my heart on fire. My thoughts stop rattling in my mind, my heart stopped racing and my lungs stopped caving in. I sound like I'm out of my mind and there's a good chance I am, but I am dying. In fact we are all dying, and the whole human race could be slowly going mad.