Dying•Wishes

The final letter

March 22, 2018

My final day is estimated to be March 23, 2018. That's tomorrow. My parents wouldn't let me get out of the hospital. They don't want me to rush my final days. I've tried a dozen times to get out but I'm to weak. I can't run. I'll never be able to say one last goodbye to my friends in person before I die.

I look at my journal. 4 pages for the people who tried to help me. And one more page for the person who helped share my pain. A tear slips down my cheek before I grab the journal, gently take out the pages and fold them in half. I write their names on it one at a time. As carefully as possible while tears stained the pages. If I can't say goodbye in person, I'll do it in a letter.

I finally finish labeling all the letters when I realize that I didn't say I died in the letters. I look at the journal, the rest of the pages blank. I grabbed a page and ripped it out. I grab a blue pen and start writing.

But How will all of them read my final note? There's only one note and four of them. Who says the one who gets it will even consider that I gave letters to other people.

I rip the paper up into four and tape one piece to the back of each letter. The only way they can read it is if they connect it and read it together. I look down at the last letter before I tape on the last piece and close my eyes. I didn't want it to end this way. I wanted to tell the people dearest to my heart that I had cancer, that I was going to die. I don't even know how I'm going to get these letters to my friends.

Tears start raining down my face as I place my hands on my face. This was not how I wanted it to end. My friends should be here, around my bed crying as we talk about the good times we've had. It's just not fair! The door opens and I hear a gasp. It was my teacher. She comes in and asks me a billion questions I can barely wrap my head around the first. I raise my hand shakily and she stops talking. Then an idea strikes.

"Hi, yes this is going to be my death bed but I have one favour to ask you," I say with a hoarse voice.

"Will you give these letters to these people, Just put them on their desks," I ask.

"But there are two for this person," she recognizes.

"Put the one with the envelope in his locker at the end of the day," I say. She nods and says sorry for I don't know what and leaves. It's funny. Those letters might as well have been my final words. One more tear slides down my face before I fall unconscious.

My dying wishes.

**
Surprise surprise, cliche character comes in just in time to be able to get the notes and give them to her friends, who would have thought. (This was a really poorly plans out book)