❝ Kiara Anderson since childhood has suffered serious health problems due to cancer. In the near end of adolescence, after several suicide attempts without ever being able to reach the end, she decides to arrange all the preparations for the funeral...
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"What was the worst feeling you felt?"
"The most painful? That's when I felt I couldn't live anymore, when life became unsustainable. The air became unbearable, it was like breathing carbon dioxide. All the words, and all the people didn't make sense. You know what it's like not to want to live? It's dark, cold and painful, it's like a thousand needles tearing your soul. You don't want to feel that. There's nothing, or anyone who can cure that pain. But he got it."
I said, "What?"
"He extolled all the damn pains. He is the morphine of my soul, of my mind."
Kiara Anderson, with Dr. Waldo.
She remembered one night. She had woken her parents screaming, felt an agonizing pain. The ambulance was heard swearing in his street, rescuers immobilized, had a cardiac massage, and the air evidently fled his lungs. Muffled voices protested for agility. She would delight in the stretcher, and they would take her to the back of the ambulance. In the midst of his near imminent death, he had noticed a black-haired boy, watching sometimes in fear, sometimes confused, sometimes worried. He found himself on the other side of the bushes, his left, a man squeezed a little girl in a hug, the little one stared scared, clinging to the man's waist.
Kiara was only eleven years old, an innocent child. "She's having a seizure, a seizure" the woman's voice, mixed with the deafening hissing, while the child struggled. "We're losing her."
Suddenly the hum of the machines disappeared, along with the voices. Deep silence. Heavy breathing entered the lungs violently. Unexpectedly opened his eyes, lying surrounded by tubes, burning throughout his body, his eyes burned, his head was twin-sharp. He tried to raise one of his arms, but they didn't even move.
" Mr. Parson, she's up. " The embarrassed voice sounded from a blind spot in the enclosure. But, did not need to see the face, Kiara would recognize the voice anywhere.
"Ag. " said he felt a bitter taste in his throat.
She will take some long steps until the young woman, touched the bed, stroking her hair, forcing a smile, did not want to disappoint her. Agnes, who was Kiara's nurse/housekeeper for more than five years, knew what each facial expression meant, even in her best performances. Jeans, a brown overcoat, ankle boots, dropped bangs in the eyes, and wavy dark hair - This was Agnes Vincenzo.
" You'll be able to go home now, niña. " Agnes says without hiding her Hispanic accent. I was looking for some way to make her more comfortable with the hospital, as much as that place had become part of the teenager, Kiara hated it.
At the age of twelve, she was given her first diagnosis. Kiara had A.N.T Aillse Neo-aithnichte. One of the first people to show remnants of the disease was an inhabitant of Aberdeen, Scotland.
The cells multiply too much, and unlike a cell of a normal human body, those of A.N.T. do not die, identical to those of blastoma. Being impregnated with your D.N.A., in the blood coursing through your veins.
