One Lucky Winner

Chapter 44 ~ Minho

Day 3
9:30 PM

I'm in pain.

I can't walk. My leg is dead. It doesn't move when I want it to. Hermione says I may never walk again. I know I'll never walk again. That really sucks because I loved running. So if I'm the one lucky winner, then I'll probably be in a wheelchair for the rest of my life.

Yippie!

Kill me now.

I touch my arm, wrapped in the bandages. We changed them this morning, so it's probably time to change them again. I can't do it without someone's help, though.

"We should change these," I tell Thomas, who is sitting right next to me. I point to my bandages. I feel like some kind of baby who needs their diaper changed. I hate it. I wish I could do it on my own.

"Okay," he says, standing up. I can tell he doesn't want to do it, though. "They're in Hermione's bag." He walks toward Newt and Hermione, on the other side of the campfire.

My bad leg and arm are in severe pain right now. I can't explain it. It kind of feels like my limbs are burning and getting sawed off at the same time. They just ache in general. They always hurt like that. I'm actually getting used to the pain, but it still hurts. It's almost unbearable.

Thomas returns with Newt, Hermione, and the bandages. Well then. The more the merrier, I guess.

They all sit down around me. I take off my coat and my jacket while they all watch me. It's so cold out; I hate it. I shiver violently from both my fever and the absence of my coats.

"Hurry up," I groan. Newt takes off the bandage on my arm, looking like he's in a toxic mood. I look at the deep slash on my arm. It's horrible. Exposed to the cold air, it hurts ten times more. Instead of getting better, it seems to be getting worse. It's the kind wound that needs stitches. But, obviously we don't have stitches, so we've just been wrapping them up in bandages. It's doing some bad damage to the slash. It's red and inflamed...I can't look at it any longer. I look away from it and look at my allies. They all have the same expression on their faces.

"Does it..." I begin to ask Hermione. I can't finish. I don't even know what I was going to say.

"Does it look okay?" Thomas finishes for me. "Is it going to heal?"

Every person in the world has that look. The look that screams hopelessness. The look of giving up. The look of sadness. Hermione has that look on her face right now. It's the exact moment when I realize: I'm going to die. I know for a fact. 100% sure. I won't make it out of here. There's no way. These wounds will take me; I'm already sick.

It's a horrible feeling. I don't want to die. I know that probably everyone here doesn't want to die. But seriously. I really don't want to die. There's so much I haven't done yet. So much I haven't seen yet. I'm not ready to die. Not at all. The thought of being gone is horrifying.

"He'll be fine," Hermione says to Newt, who's looking at the ground. Her voice is sad sounding. It's all a lie. She looks at me. "You'll be fine."

I nod, even though I know the truth. We both know. We all know.

"Here." Hermione hands me another package of the strong painkillers. My heart lightens a tiny bit when I see them. When I took them last night, they helped a lot.

I take them. "Thank you." She doesn't reply. She walks away, back to the other side of the fire.

I'm going to die.

The words keep floating in my head. I feel like bursting out in tears and drowning in them. I wonder what Thomas and Newt would do if I did start crying right now. I'd be such a baby if I did. I can't do that, even though it's all I want to do right now.