Bloodlines

The Worst Becomes Worse

'You're going to die.'

Not too many people enjoy hearing those words—at least, I know that I don't. But that's what I've been hearing from countless voices for about two weeks now. Some were high and scratchy, while others were low and gruff. I hated them all. My mother always reminds me to think on the bright side and find the silver lining.

Yeah. Right.

My dad disappeared when I was about eight, so I remember him, but not too well. I can still recall enough to know that he wouldn't try to beat stage three pancreatic cancer with denial and 'optimism'; he would search high and low, near and far to get me the best cure possible.
I suppose I've stalled enough and should tell you about myself now... My name is Serenity Ashford—but since I'm assuming we agree that that's a typo on my birth certificate, I tell people to call me Sage. My skin is fairer than porcelain and I'm rather short at five feet and a half-inch. I've got these weird blue-green eyes with a light hazel spot next to my left pupil and annoyingly long black curls that I'm sure have a mind of their own.
It's sophomore year for me at my new local school, Woodview High. Mother was adamant that I start school two months late to build 'social bonds with kids my age' before my next— and probably last— visit to the hospital. Great plan, Mom; build friendships so you can crush them with your death four weeks later. Seems legit.
Another bonus to this lovely infomercial known as my life is that I'm a fifteen-year-old tenth grader because Mother decided she wanted me shipped out a year early.
Yippee.
And so here I stand, in the biting autumn wind, waiting for that giant yellow monstrosity— usually used for public school transportation— called a bus. I blew on my slightly chapped hands once more, before I heard the metal beast rattling and wheezing up the hill to reach the front of my driveway. After it finally squealed to a stop, the door hissed open and I boarded the bus. I was greeted with a large wall of five dollar perfume, teen angst, and gas station coffee as I fought my way to the only empty seat. 'Yeah, friends my age,' I grumbled to myself as I sat and discovered exactly why no one had taken this seat: the bottom was absolutely slathered with something that smelled like rancid tuna salad. 'Yet another lovely stench to add to my first day back to school experience,' I thought grimly.

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Though the entirety of my bus ride lasted no longer than ten minutes, it certainly couldn't have ended any sooner— I had to stop myself from falling to the icy pavement and kissing it worshipfully. I settled for the slightly less polluted lungful of air and followed the trudging crowd of bleary-eyed teenagers to the school's entrance.