Fangs and Wands

The gates of hell

   Hello, I'm Hellena. Only eighteen and already faced with death. I've stopped counting but I know it's only a few days left now. Though I bet my mom knows how many days left to the last second.

    I feel pity for my parents, their only child is about to die and they can't make another. Not to mention they are also at a short supply of relatives. They will be very alone after I go. Only a few days left and you want to know what the worst part is?

    I don't feel anything.

    The doctors say it's a cancer- like virus that is eating me on the inside but I feel perfectly normal. No throbbing or excruciating pains on any part of my body. I've felt dizzy and lightheaded here and there but that's just it.

   But hey, this isn't a story about my sad life. I am the most positive person I know and I'd be damned if anyone where to see me cry. The last few weeks have been the best of my life, well the best as they could for someone in my situation.

    Like anyone in my situation, I made a list of things to do before I die. Only my list was the absolute best.

    I hooked up with a couple of guys-not really my friends but a couple people who didn't mind breaking the law and who I felt totally at ease with, because they don't know about my sickness.

    We broke into a hospital, just for the fun part of it, gate-crashed a few weddings in our jeans and boots and made sure to be in all the photographs. We stole a car and kidnapped a girl, who ended up being part of our screwed up gang. A couple of us went to jail for the car thing, for some reason, my name never came up.

   I tried a few drugs and made a mess while I was at it. Like walking around with my shirt buttons undone until someone-whoever that someone was-wrestled me back to my room and locked me in. I haven't done the sleep with multiple guys thing though. I have not so great memories on the subject and I don't think I'm missing out on anything. I nolonger go to school, because who needs a degree in hell, so I spend my days doing all this shitty stuff that make my adrenaline rush.

   Or maybe you're just trying to avoid being with your parents. Because they remind you of what you'll miss.

   My brush falters where I'm painting, on the back of some building in an alley as the voice in my head says the truth that I've been avoiding. I've been spending time with total strangers that I don't care about because I love my parents so much that looking at them hurt. They took me in when I was only a few months old because they couldn't have children of their own and I've never felt neglected. Be it work or anything else, I've always come first. Some might say I'm a little bit spoiled but to heck with what they say, my parents are my lifeline and I theirs.

    Even now I'm staying out late so that I can sneak in after dinner and avoid seeing that look of loss in their eyes every time they look at me. I've never disrespected my paintings to paint them in the street like this, but anyway, this might be my last painting so why the heck not.

   My paintings.

   I was afraid to draw or paint anything after last time, when my instinct-made drawing came to life. Even now I don't know what I'm painting, my hands just move on instinct.

   Last time my painting was a picture of my mother in a hospital bed, clutching my childhood teddy bear in her arms. I never understood it until the next day when she had a panic attack and spent the night in the hospital, clutching my purple teddy as if it was a lifeline.

   I feel a little guilty because I put her there, she had an attack because she has been worrying about me all day everyday, nomatter how may times I tell her not to.