One, Two, Three. *short story*
LIFE'S P.O.V.
The girl was feeling sick. She had things she wanted to do, places she wanted to go, people she wanted to meet. One, two, three. She had that little spark inside. She had the will to live.
The girl was feeling worse. She woke up every morning, and one day, wrote a list of things to live for. Then she counted them. One, two, three. She said "This is what is going to keep me alive." Whenever she thought of something else, she added it to her list she kept. She had that will, that fire inside. She had the will to live.
The girl was feeling even worse. She was in bed, and when she wasn't, she was counting the things on her list to live for. One, two, three. Next, she went to the bathroom, and ate. Then she fell back to sleep. The cycle continued. She was fighting so hard. The fire kept burning, and getting stronger. She had the will to live.
The girl was feeling awful. The hospital smelled of bleach, urine, and medicine. One, two three. She counted things to live for when she was awake, but she wasn't adding things to the list as much as she used to. It was hard to write with the IV. But that fire was brighter than ever before. She was fighting to live, so, so hard. She had the will to live.
The girl was feeling horrible. She was hardly ever awake. When she was, she was counting the things on her list. One, two, three. And then going back to sleep. She was trying to stay awake, so, so hard. She was keeping her eyes open as long as she could, so she wouldn't slip away in her slumber. But she failed every time. The fire was still burning. She had the will to live.
The girl was on her last leg. She got up one day, and counted the things to live for. One, two, three. The fire was settling down. She kept trying to make it burn again, but the fire just died even more. The sparks stopped to a few remaining coals. One, two, three. The fire died.
I reached to her, tried so desperately to grab her and take her back to me, so many times. That day, the IV was stopped, and the girl was awoken one last time. She counted the things on her list one last time. One, two, three. She counted the loving hands on her hand. One, two, three. She then counted the seconds on the clock left until noon. One, two, three. The girl then stopped counting.
DEATH'S P.O.V.
The girl awoke one day, and counted her steps. One, two, three. She then fell to the ground. Her parents came running, and helped her into her bed. She wanted to do so many things. But she was creeping closer.
The girl awoke week later, and tried to walk out of her room again, counting her steps. One, two, three. She sank back into bed, doubt starting to creep into her soul. She made a list of things to live for, but she couldn't finish, because she was too tired. She was creeping closer.
Then she awoke a few weeks later, trying to get up again, counting her failed attempts. One, two, three. She repeated the same cycle when she was awake; urinate, eat, count. That was all. Then her heavy eyelids drooped shut, against her will. She was creeping closer.
The girl awoke month later, in the hospital bed, IVs hooked up to her arm, and hands. Her list of things to live for was dwindling, but she still counted. One, two, three. It was hard for her to write. The cancer was taking her over. She was creeping closer.
The girl awoke another month later, and she was hardly awake at all. It was as if she was still dreaming. She kept counting the things on her list. One, two, three. She was trying to keep awake, but failing. Her heavy eyelids kept closing on her. She was creeping closer.
The girl awoke a few weeks later, and counted her things to live for list. One, two, three. She kept trying to get back, but slowly slipping away even more with each attempt. She counted her failed attempts to stay awake. One, two, three. She couldn't keep awake any more. She was here.
I tried to push her back to life, hoping I wouldn't have to take another helpless soul into my arms. But I knew it was time. She deserved to be done with the suffering and pain of the horrible disease. I let her count the last things she ever would. She counted the things on her list, the hands trying to give their life to her, and the seconds until noon. One, two, three. The girl then came to me, and stopped counting.
HOPE'S P.O.V.
But the girl didn't really die. She will forever live on in the minds of her friends, family, and the people she met, after all. She will forever be loved by the people she knew. She touched the lives of many people, before and after the ghastly disease we call cancer. She will forever give hope to all people that come through that same place. Her family will spread the word, hoping to at least give some of her hope, her life, to people who need it. There are many people who need it. She will live on. Death is not the end.
