Before I Die

one

The snow outside is tremendous. In the past hour alone, it had grown deeper by at least five inches. Okay, so I’m probably over reacting by just a little, but, nevertheless, I’m amazed that school is even open today! It’s completely ridiculous, but, of course, I’m not the type of girl to voice my opinions, so I remain silent as my teacher, Mr. Clarke, paces the classroom.

To say I’m bored would be an understatement.

For the pat year, I had been happy with wasting my life away in education, always striving to be the best student with the top grades and whatnot. It was in my nature to turn down anything that could have put my condition and I at risk. But now? I was no point.

I could be living right now; traveling the world with Noah, going to concerts with my friends: living. But no, my conceited mother refused to let me, claiming that it would be ‘bad for my health’. The poor woman still believed that I could beat the cancer growing in my lungs. I, however, had lost hope in that a long time ago.

Noah’s the same, which sucks donkey butt. Sure, he wants me to live my life as if it were the last day of my very existence (which, knowing me, is very likely), but he never allowed me to do things that could make my condition worse. Once, he wouldn’t even let me enjoy the ocean air! He said the salt would clog my windpipe.

Figures.

However, to be completely honest, I used to be like that too – maybe a month or two ago. I’m not sure when it all changed, but I know that I used to be careful; I wanted to carry on living. But now everything is falling apart; I get out of breath easily and I can’t walk up or down the stairs without my lungs burning as if they’re on fire. Now, I know I’m dying. I’ve accepted it, and because of that, my view on how I spend my life has changed. I’ve had a year to get over the fact that I only have one more left, and I’m okay with that. I just want to life my life to the fullest.

So you can probably understand my frustration as I sit here, in math class, sitting a damned test!

I mean, what’s the point?

A few minutes later, I grow anguished, and instead of answering the advanced algebra equations before me, I grip a red marker pen and draw a huge question mark in the center of the paper. I laugh to myself, and, in turn, receive a glare from Mr. Clarke.

Usually, in this situation, I’d typically cower; act oblivious to his cold, pointed eyes. This time, however, I do something completely out of character: I give him an evil smirk. (After years of watching Selena Harding, our school’s queen bee, throwing it at me, I seem to have perfected it. And it feels good. Really good.)

My grin grows.

“Is there a problem I am unaware of, Nora?” he asks, raising his thick, brown eyebrows that are in serious need of a trim. “Surely these questions are within your range of understanding. Am I wrong?”

“No,” I reply monotonously.

“Then I’d appreciate it if you would get on with your work. We don’t have all day, you know,” he pesters before sauntering back to his annoyingly well-organised desk.

I roll my eyes, and, after a few more minutes of this undeniable torture, I peer back at the clock. Forty-five minutes left. Forty-five minutes in which I could spend living.

***

After what felt like an eternity, the bell finally rings, effectively dismissing the class. I had hardly done anything all lesson, and my test paper was still blank – well, apart from the huge question mark in the middle of it – as I place it on the pile of other papers.