Afterlife

1.

WHEN I was diagnosed with cancer, I was hit with a tsunami wave of something so indescriptible I froze into one ice sculpture.  Like it's been billions of years into the future and we were in a Ice Age.    

And I was to blind to see it.

   "–Unfortunately, the tumor is highly continuing to pile and pile up until it would..." The doctor faltered.  She didn't have to finish.  After all these months of headaches and nausea, I felt weak and worn. 

    I shaped up to a freshman girl who was a nerd to an average teen that was obsessed with cosmetics and boys, then to a sophmore cheerleader that was rising up the social pyramid, and landed to a junior who was one of the school's  prom queen's favorites.  

Now, I felt like I was back to square one as a stick shaped body teen with goggles as glasses and had a serious case of acne.  

   Mom sat in the chair next to me with a hand over her mouth as she stifled her sobs and I saw her bony worn shoulders shook like an avalanche.  It felt like only seconds ago when I was at cheer practice and fell off the top of the pyramid unconscious.  I was carried away in the ambulance and did a MRI, later to only discover that I had a tumor in my brain.  

    Somehow my heart was steady and calm, but my brain was numb.  My hands were turning slightly red from clenching and my nails dug into the delicate skin of my palm.   

"Miss Leslie?" The doctor asked.  "Are you alright?"

No.  I'm not alright. This can't be happening.  Surely this was a dream and the illusion will clear up to me waking up with a healthy body that lasts for a 100 years.  No. No.  I let out a soft whimper and felt something bottle up inside me exploded. 

My breath turned shallow  and tried to convince myself that this was only a story.  I'm not scared, I can assure you, but in a lure of a shock current.   My eyes prickled from the dryness of staring into space and the cut on my leg started to pucker.  A red dot appeared in the white bandage.   

    I stared blankly at the doctor.  "What an excellent question." My voice surprisingly calm and dripped with sarcasm.  The doctor's eyes widen and flushed.  Her voice stammered and tried to correct her words, but it was no use.   Her excuses and apologies faded to the background as I started to pick the dry skin on my thumb and watched the dead skin flutter to the ground.  

   The air was too cold in the hospital room as my threadbare, blue hospital gown stuck to my sweaty skin and I'm pretty sure my face and hair condition was worse than the puke green walls. For once, I didn't give a crap what I looked like, and I closed my eyes, picturing myself at the beach that was completely deserted.  Usually I like to dream about a Brazilian male model sweeping me off my feet at the beach, but now I'm envisioning me ankle deep in turquoise water with an ocean breeze.  

A one great person said: Cancer is a monster nearly impossible to defeat, but God put you to face it for a reason.          

Then why me? Out of billions of people, why do I have to face cancer? Why can't it be that son of a bitch, Marco Palini, who cheated on me for almost a year? So many questions whirled around my head, that a migraine came up.

    I wasn't really the overall mean girl of the school that was more of a job for the drama queen, Sierra Sinclair, but it doesn't mean I did anything to stop the bullying.  I was the bystander, the weak junior, and the girl who stands beside the queen.  Practically the whole cliche package of being a follower by laughing to whatever Sierra Sinclair says even though it wasn't really funny, worshipping the ground the queen walks on, and just smirks at the side bars looking at the poor weakling who dared to cross the path of the queen.   Inside, I was bored and just stared down at the victim in pity, wondering why the hell do we have to be cruel to a girl who accidentally stepped on the queen's new Gucci shoes.

I admit, I wasn't an overall saint.  I once pantsed a girl at gym right in front of the boy's locker room because she threw up all over me. It wasn't her fault, she had a severe case of food poisoning, but Sierra just stared me down like, Why are you standing there covered in barf? Do something to please me, you idiot.  

     So I did what she commanded, and left the poor girl standing there sobbing while the boys hooted and wolf-whistled at her.  I belted out with fake laughter and felt a surge of power as the queen looked at me with approval.  That look was almost worth it, but left a trail of disgust along the way.  Like the other part of me was furious that I allowed a girl treat me like I was her servant.  

    So maybe I did deserve this, and I deserved every cancer cell invading my body.  Maybe this was the way things should be.  To be sick with all the things I did.  I shuddered as I see flashes of memories jot through my brain.  All the guilt and sadness erupted me, forcing me to break down as I see tears flow through the back of my eyelids and an escaped breath left between my lips.  

"Oh, sweetheart." Mom opened her arms and I fell into them.  Throughout me and my older sister, Mom only called me an endearing name.  She'd hold my sister when she'd get a scrape at the knee, but never once called her the name she called me.  Sweetheart.  Back in the days, I wore it like a crown, and Lucy would get howling with jealousy.  Whenever Mom would call her name, she'd throw a tantrum, screaming it was Sweetheart.  She's over it now, but I think it still hurts her when Mom calls me that time to time.  

    Thinking of Lucy hurdles me in the stomach.  She hasn't visited yet, but Mom said she needed the time.  The time? What time? When will she visit me? When I die? I stricken at the thought of my last words to her.  Definitely not something you'd want to put on your gravestone.  

    To think about it, our sibling-ship was never close.  We were always in competition to fight over who's Mom's favorite, and I win every time, even though they say that Moms favor the wiser, because they're obviously much less work.  At least what I heard of.

Cuddling close to Mom, I find the doctor looking at me with overwhelming pity.  Anger filled my mind.  I don't want her damn pity.  I want her to cure me from this sickness, but I'd have to go through so much it made me want to think dying was easier.  

Maybe it was easier to just leave everything.

Author's Note

***

New style.

I hoped you like it, but I chose this version because it's more of my type.  The original was hard, and I didn't know how to express Leslie as much as now.  

I AM SO SO SO SORRY.  

How long have I edited this book? 

You see, the excitement of going to my favorite part is thrilling, but I have to found the base first, adding on and on.  Sometimes it's really deep, but sometimes it could get a tad boring.  If you know me, I'm straight to the point in stories.  

Anyways, I hope you enjoy this book!  Comment to tell how you like the first chapter.  ;)