The Last Kiss

Chapter 1

There are two types of people in the world. Those who sugarcoat everything and say that everyone has their purpose in life and they go on and on about how wonderful life is. Then, there are the people who see it how it is. They know life sucks. They're completely aware of the fact, but they keep living their sucky lives anyway.

Life really does suck. People always try to tell me how I should be grateful for living and breathing and all of this crap, but I'm not. I know I should be, but I'm not.

Why should I be grateful? What's to be grateful for?

My parents and sister died when I was thirteen. I moved into an orphanage shortly after that. And a year later, I got diagnosed with cancer.

So excuse me for not going on and on about how wonderful life is. Because for me, it hasn't been wonderful for five years. And by now, I've gotten used to a pretty crappy life.

I never liked the orphanage. I stayed there for three years, and never once in that entire time did I feel anything but sadness when I thought of the place.

I made friends, though. I made lots of friends. I could name five right off the top of my head: Kayley, Sarah, Mason, Riley, and Drew. Yep, those names now mean almost nothing to me. We were never close friends.

I left the orphanage two years ago, which means I've been living alone in this cheap little house in the middle of nowhere for 24 months. Time really goes by fast. Not.

A year after I'd moved to the orphanage, these doctors volunteered to give all of us poor, depressed children the medical care we needed.

I was getting my physical when the doctor told me that I had three unusual bumps on my arm. He wanted me to come into his office for a better exam. The ladies who ran the orphanage weren't too sure about it, until the doctor mentioned it was free.

Two days later, I went into his office and three hours later I walked back out with no more weird bumps on my arm and with the knowledge that cancer was infecting my body as we spoke. I think I cried. I'm not really sure.

Melanoma was what he called it. He said it was the official name, but to be honest, I don't really care about the official name. At the time, I cared about living. Now, I care about dying.

I stayed at the orphanage for a while. Where else was I going to go? But no one wants to adopt a child with cancer. Who wants to get attached to someone to have them die so soon? I don't blame them.

My friends at the orphanage tried really hard to cheer me up, but it never worked. Sometimes, people are beyond the point of happiness. And once you pass that point, you can't really go back.

They never could cheer me up like they wanted to. I almost felt bad that I wasn't in a better mood, because I could see how much effort they were using to make me smile.

There was only one person who could make me smile, but he was never there when I needed him most.

He visited me about once a week since I first moved to the orphanage. He was charming, funny, nice. He knew how to make me smile when I didn't even know how.

He stopped visiting a couple weeks after my diagnosis. I still remember the last words he said to me, "I'm never coming back."

I cried as the only true happiness I'd had since the death of my family walk out the door of my life forever.

I've never seen him again.

I have his phone number, but I can't call him. I can't. I don't even know what I would say.

I left the orphanage two years after the diagnosis, after being pestered by my doctor to move out to this little shack in the middle of the woods. I was only fifteen, but this was a special case.

Apparently, it makes it easier for him to come out to this house and give me medicine that's supposed to prolong my life or something. Personally, I don't care either way. I never liked the pity stares I got from the other kids when he visited the orphanage.

I don't know how long these medicines are going to work. You can't save a human forever. Your best hope is to save them for as long as you can, and hope it's enough.

But it never is.