I text Cadence
once I am done with
my morning
"self-care"
ritual with
Monique,
making sure to
compete with
her card.
I send an
explosion of
emojis and
tack on,
"propane tanks
full of love
because they're
indestructible
and bigger than
buckets."
She lets me know
she's in the
StudCo room,
and that they're making
posters
for Junior Week
which is only
two weeks away.
Then she adds,
"Army tanks,
beat that!"
I have to admit
army tanks
outrank
propane tanks.
I swipe my
elevator card
on the scanner,
cursing the architects
for building
our elongated,
wide-windowed,
massive storage office-d
classroom
upstairs.
Because now
I have to
board the elevator,
a clearly not crippled
person,
because the school
doesn't want me
passing out
on the stairs
because I
can't breathe.
The smell of
spray paint
and chalk dust
is overwhelming,
and I have
to pause because
I really can't
breathe.
I force myself
in anyway,
pretending
the contaminated air
isn't sharp
on my damaged lungs.
YOU ARE READING
Remember; You Have the Universe
Teen FictionCover by kyromaniak Everyone wants to be different. I just want to be like everybody else. ---- Seventeen-year-old chronically ill Emma has traded dreams of flying into space for, "Support Therapy," aka, "The Dying Kids Group," and Student Council...
