I creaked open my front door slowly, being careful to not wake my parents. I walked down the noisy steps to the ground level of my garage and looked outside. It was so peaceful. The only sound I could hear was the sound of crickets chirping and an occasional bat flying overhead. I walked out to the picnic table at the end of my driveway, stopping at my car on the way to grab a cigarette and my lighter. I sat down on top of the table Indian style, and lit my cigarette. As I was exhaling the first breath of smoke, I couldn't help but feel hopeless. Like I had no purpose in life. I felt like I had my heart ripped from my chest and thrown on the ground in front of me. I pulled my pocket knife out of the waistband of my pants, where I hid it. I pushed the button to expose the blade and held it against my arm lightly, contemplating if I wanted to make the blade penetrate my sad skin or not. Just then I felt a warm hand on my back.
"Please don't" The voice said.
Startled, I got down from the table and turned around.
The guy looked to be about 5 foot 9 or so, and he was slender. He wore black shoes, black skinny jeans, and a black millitary-style jacket. His face was painted mostly white with black circles around his eyes and he had choppy black hair.
He looked down at me with a sad expression.
"Please, sit down," He said, moving his position to sit on the table and tapping the empty space beside him. "I won't hurt you."
I hesitated as I walk towards him, fearing his was going to turn into some kind of monster or demon.
"What's your name, doll?" He looked at me, but I kept looking down at my feet; I was too scared to make eye contact with him.
"Allana." I said with fear lacing my lips.
"I'm here to help you. Is there anything you wanna talk about?"
He felt like a friend to me already. His voice was so soft and gentle. He scooted closer to me, wrapping his arm around my aching body.
"I have terminal liver cancer." I answered, looking to him with tears rolling down my face. "I'm feel awful all the time and my liver only functions at about or less than half of what it should. I didn't necessarily come out here with the intention of going back inside..." My words trailed off as he wiped the tears from my face.
"I see. Can I tell you something?" He asked with a concerned tone.
"Sure." I huffed, inhaling another drag of my cigarette. He reached his hand out and plucked the cigarette from my mouth quickly and threw it to the grass.
"You're beautiful. And we don't always get dealt the hand everyone wishes for. But let me tell you something, your life is worth living. Don't believe anyone when they tell you you aren't strong and cant do things, because you are and you CAN. Get out there and make a difference in your final days." At the word "final days", my heart felt like it stopped. I looked up at him with fear and distraught woven in my eyes.
"Hey, kid. You'll be okay." He cupped my face in his hands. I could feel the tears coming on again. I blinked and one fell down my face.
"Are you sure?"
"Yes." He smiled as I looked away for a second, peering down to my feet.
When I looked back up again, he was gone. I smiled slightly. And for the first time in forever, I felt like at least someone, whether it was a spirit, or even just a fragment of my imagination, cared about me and knew I could make it.
