The circles
They fade away… But then they’re stronger.
They begin to twitch and gleam and I feel light headed again. It’s been a week now, and the pain has gotten worse. It’s only a matter of time before it truly fades away never returning…
I’ve always wanted a small, cozy family. A man to call my own and a few children to claim as my flesh and blood. A velvety place to call home and a simple workshop to blend in my artistic skills.
That would have made me the happiest person on earth, but as they always say, God usually has different plans hidden for you.
Plans that would usually sabotage what you have in mind.
Plans that would urge you to fight.
And plans that would turn your life completely over.
My name is Francis Dubois, I’m 24 years old and I have one week to live.
Malignant brain tumor in the last stages, my doctor had told me.
Quite frankly, I would have loved to have died without the firm knowledge of it. It’s not that I’m afraid of such a grim matter, only that I fear for the consequences of it.
Not that I had many friends, but those that I had were lifetime friends who’d sacrifice anything for me.
It’s right now that I realized I should have jumped when the parachute instructor told me to, except that my cowardice overwhelmed me and I just couldn’t.
Just thinking about the days I’ve wasted doing absolutely nothing was killing me. How ironic that sounded given that I was truly experiencing my last few days doing nothing but sitting in the sunny hospital room with glucose drips up my veins.
My father had been in a terrible mental situation lately. I wouldn’t blame him given that he had lost his wife –my mother- thirteen years ago for the same reason. That man had been there every step of the way. He’d pretended to laugh with me when I could evidently see the black rings around his eyes inspired by heavy crying and lack of sleep.
I’m so, so, very sorry, Dad.
A knock sounded on the door, nabbing me out of my train of thoughts and then Dr. Newman came in.
“How are you feeling Ms. Dubois?”
“You can call me Francis, you know. You don’t have to remind me that I’m dying single.” I joke lightly.
The young man smiles and says “Francis, how are you feeling today?”
“I don’t really know…” I admit “Light headed as usual, and lately lit up, circles keep appearing.”
“Lit up circles?” he asks with furrowed brows.
“Yes, kind of like ringlets of pure light. They’re comforting, really.”
He frowns for a moment and says “Well, I’ll give you some morphine for the pain and I’ll check up on you in a few hours. You just need to rest.”
“As if that’s gonna buy me time…” I say more to myself than to him.
My father walks in a few moments after the doctor leaves and he looks as bad as he’s been looking for the past four months he’s known about my illness.
