Prologue
Annabeth's P.O.V.
The thought of dying never really scared me.In fact, several times on several occasions, I would have been quite happy to die. I know i probably sound suicidal right now, but trust me, I'm fine. It's just my body that isn't.
I suppose I should introduce myself before you start questioning my morals and suggest that I go to rehab (because trust me, people have tried). My name is Annabeth. I don't like last names because they are just another name and part of me. People put too many names on people. And people have too many parts they don't show. Then again, if we all showed ourselves to everyone, the nerdy girls would probably be the queen bees and the jocks would probably be left behind.
Okay, maybe not that drastic, but you get the idea.
I was diagnosed with Stage 4 Leukemia when I was 10 years old. At the time I didn't think much of it, I mean, come on, I was ten. I used to be optimistic and positive that I would beat the cancer. I thought I was strong. Mind over matter.
Let's just leave it as things didn't turn out that way.
I'm not that optimistic anymore, nor strong. In fact, my mother called me 'Neg' for about a year because negative was all I was. And if two negatives made a positive in real life, I'd be as happy as a fat kid eating.
So, skipping ahead a few years, I'm an 18 year old girl sitting in her room on Tumblr. Normal enough.
I should be packing right now for London, considering I was leaving in about 20 minutes and I have packed absolutely nothing. But instead I sit here, doing nothing. Except thinking about death, again.
Who can really blame me, though? I am going to die. That is a fact. Here's another: we all will. My death date will just be closer, my grave stone will have less numbers, and my funeral will have less people there. Those are all facts. Here's a chart I made, look at the ratios (I'm in bold, normal people are normal, shocker):
Categories:
life span
social life
terminal disease?
maybe 20-25 if lucky: maybe 90
none: 500 Facebook friends
yes: never even thought about it
Anyway, I have more charts, but you probably don't want to see them.And this is why I have come to my conclusions. "An!" my mother yelled. That was a pre-cancer nickname. I guess it gives her hope. Not me.
"I'm almost done!" I yelled back as I threw a bunch of random clothes into my oversized luggage bag and put in some essentials, including a large jar of medication. Because no one will think I'm a freak when I show upwith a huge case of pills (note the sarcasm). I walked downstairs and put my stuff in the trunk, then got in the passenger seat.
"You packed at the last possibe second, didn't you?" she asked.
"You know me too well," I said.
"I really hope you have a good time. Make some friends, go out, party. Whatever you want." She knew I was going to die too. Besides, the Genies are paying for it.
Yes, this was my dying wish, to go to London. Maybe for a year, maybe forever. Nevertheless, this is what I wanted to do. I was going to be staying with my cousin, Marcus Butler. They said he was a youtuber. That's a job?
We arrived at the airport a got out. My mom pulled out my luggage, and I grabbed it and hugged her. "Thanks, for everything," I said. She was the first one to let go, but not without a sad smile. I returned it, as I realized that this could quite possibly be the last time I ever saw her.
"I love you," she said shakily.
"I love you too," I replied. And then I walked away, only looking back to see her car pulling away.
