A Work in Progress

Three - 61 days

My name is Annabelle Laurels, and I think I was just diagnosed with cancer.

I hear my mom drop her phone. I hear her begin to weep. I hear the doctor say he's sorry. But I can't think straight, so I stare at the floor blankly and say the first thing that pops into my head. 

"Okay."

He seems to understand the meaning behind my word. That one word. "I'm very sor--"

"Shut up!" My mom screams through her tears. "You've done enough already! Come on, Anna." She yanks on my hand and I subconsciously slide off the examination bed and follow her out, feeling a packet of paper slide between the thumb and forefingers of my free hand. I instinctively grab it and put it in my bag, which is still in the waiting room. I take my bookbag and get into the car with my mom, and we're both completely silent on the ride home.

* * *

We arrive at my green two-story house, pulling the Chrysler into the garage before I hurriedly get out and rush up the stairs of the house, to my room. I slam the door behind me and open my bookbag, pulling out the papers Hicks gave me. It's all I need to see the front page alone.

There, in big, bold letters, is one word: CANCER. I put my hand to my mouth to stifle a loud cry. I shut my eyes and realize that this isn't one of my stories. This is real. I can't erase the words that are my life and write new ones. I have cancer, and that's that. As my tears drip onto the thin stack of paper, another, darker thought pops up.

I'm going to die young, and that's that.

I hear a knock at my door, but I don't answer. I just stand there and cry on this paper, this terrible paper that just ensured my impending doom. I drop the paper and it lands, open, on the floor. I look down at it, still sobbing, and begin to cry harder. Time to complete white cell overgrowth: two months.

What?!?! No!!! It isn't real. I'm having a terrible nightmare. Nonononono. I hear another knock, and I snap. "Just leave me alone!!!" I inadvertently scream at my mom, and go back to sobbing. I lay down on my bed, and I cry. My life has never been worse.

I cry myself to sleep, and the blackness of an empty, dreamless slumber scares me, because I could be dead right now. I could die in twelve seconds. I could die tomorrow. I could die anytime at all. And there's nothing I can do about it. 

* * *

I hear my alarm go off and solemnly get up, dressing and pulling out my notebook. But I don't write in it. There isn't any point in that anymore. Instead, I walk down into the kitchen. And I throw it into the white trash can. It brings tears to my eyes, looking at it in there, but I don't have any reason to write. I'm going to die anyway.

"Yes, okay. No, she'll be taking online classes. Thank you." I hear my mom in the living room, talking on the phone. "Yes, I'm positive. No, you're unenrolling her and that's it. Okay, thank you. Have a nice day." I hear the phone beep. Unenrolled? No. I refuse. My mom begins to weep as I stand there, silent in the white-walled kitchen. In the dim light, which comes only from the living room, the walls look grey, the mahogany cabinets appear a drab color of dark brown. I, too, begin to weep.

My life is falling apart. First, the cold, ruthless monster in my bloodstream. Then the fear it brings
Now, I'm stolen from school. No more friends. No more healthy social interaction. I grimly traipse up the steps to my room, shutting the door behind me and leaning against it. I pull my grey-cased phone from my pocket and turn it on, my hands shaking violently. I tap on an app. My messages. I select Chloe's name and begin to type, letting auto-correct do all the work, as my hands are shaking too hard to type and my eyes are too watery to see.

Me: I'm not coming to school today. Or ever again.

Her: What?! Why???

Me: I went to the hospital yesterday, and they did a blood test on me. I was diagnosed with...

I can't bring myself to type the next word. My hands are shaking too hard, and the keys are too small. I know I should accept the fact that this monster is living inside of me, and it will never leave. But I can't.

Her: With what? Anna, it's okay. You're going to be fine.

Me: no im not!!! i have cancer!!!

Me: I only have two months left

Me: Chloe?

Chloe Rine - active 1 minute ago

The sentence appears at the top of the screen, and I launch my phone across the room, watching it shatter against my wooden desk. I sink to the floor, sitting against the door as I look at the hundreds of glass fragments from my phone, now embedded in the carpet. Each one glitters in the light from the bulb overhead.

And I think about how those little glass shards are glowing brighter than I ever will. Than I will ever get a chance to.

And I hate God, if he exists. Not that I believe in him anymore. I hate Dr. Hicks. I hate my white blood cells for over-reproducing. But most of all, I hate myself. I hate myself for being in this situation. I hate myself for being alive, because if I wasn't alive, I wouldn't have to die.