Sacrifice

Prologue

The last thing I remember is the beeping. The iron lung keeping me alive whooshed again, taking away the work from what was left of my lungs.

"She may never wake up."

I was terrified. I was scared all the entire time, from when I collapsed in Phy Ed to going under for the operation. A couple weeks after I passed out at school and I still couldn't breathe any better, my mom decided I should get a chest scan.

"No, no, she'll wake up! Just give her another week, you'll see."

What they found was essentially a death sentence at my age. I had adenocarcinoma, cancer of the epithelium of my lungs. The tumours were massive and spreading, and time was limited. Not even a legal adult and I've got an expiration date.

"Miss, we're going to need the space soon, and your insurance is not going to cover a lost cause like this."

The operation took hours. Hours upon hours to try and scrape every cancerous cell out of my lungs, and even now, with a 10-cm tumour laying on a tray somewhere, they're not sure they have it all. I have very little undamaged lung tissue left, so I rely on machinery to make sure I don't drown in my own blood or suffocate.

"She is not a lost cause! Just give her some time! All she needs is time!"

I can hear my mom crying. She wants to believe I can pull through, but it hurts too much. I can't tell her I hurt, though. All I do is listen and will my fingers to move when she holds my limp hand. The doctor ushers my mom out of the room and I'm left with the cacophonous silence of the machines.

It's so hard to stay. There's a constant pull, an ever-present ache drawing me to death. It would be so easy to just escape. At this point, morphine can't help me. But I won't let go. I can't. My mom would be distraught. I just need to buckle down and concentrate on recovering so Mom can calm down.

My mom comes back in sniffling, but without the doctor. She goes back to the same place she's been occupying ever since we checked in. She takes my clammy hand in her warm, dry one and squeezes it gently.

"I love you, honey. I love you so, so, much. Your dad would've been so proud seeing you do everything you've done. The doctors say that the longer you stay unconscious, the less likely you'll wake up, and at this point it'd take a miracle. I know you're in pain, and I'm here to tell you goodbye. You can let go if you want to. I love you."

I feel a warm pressure on my forehead and try harder to wake up. It's like dragging myself out of a pit of boiling tar with only my arms. I sigh mentally and my mom starts.

"Alex?!"

I keep struggling, pushing away the drug-induced fogs and crack my eyes to blinding florescent lights.

"Mom? It's so bright. My body hurts so much..," I whispered.

"Honey, did you hear what I said? It's okay, you don't need to hurt any more. You can go, I'll be fine. I love you."

"I love you more, Mom."

"I love you most."

I closed my eyes and let myself go. Instantly the pain dissipated, and I felt myself rising. I could hear the heart rate monitor flat-lining and my mom quietly sobbing over my cooling body as I rose through the ceiling, then the roof of the hospital. Rising and rising, past the trees, past the clouds, then I stopped.

And dropped, fast.

The wind whistled in my ears as I plummeted to the ground. I braced for impact as the grass came up to meet me, but I just passed through it with no trouble. I didn't slow, I just fell through stone and dirt like it was air. As the rocks around me reddened with heat, my descent slowed and I was slingshotted back up again. This went on for hours, never painful, until my feet rested on the grass again. I jumped a couple times to test the solidity of the ground. When I was thrown neither up nor down, I sat down in the short grass and cried.

I cried because I was dead. I cried for my mother. I cried because this was supposed to work out. But mostly

I cried because I was afraid.