Dear God,
I just realized that I have three months left.
And I've decided I'm angry about that.
I deserve more time.
And to quote The Fault In Our Stars,
I want more numbers than I'm bound to get.
I want so many numbers.
But I won't get them.
I won't get them because I have cancer.
Because my brain in shrinking.
Because I have a tumor.
Because my brain is eating itself.
Because I'm sick.
Because my head is made of cancer.
I hate cancer.
So much.
Love,
Peyton
Peyton’s P.O.V
Staring at Cody sleeping in his chair next to my bed, something strikes me. I have three months left to live. I’m twenty-four. I deserve more time then what I got. I’m twenty four. Some people live to be one hundred and four.
So why me?
What did I ever do to die at age twenty four?
I want more numbers. I have a set of numbers and it ends at twenty four and some odd months and weeks and days and hours and minutes and seconds, but I want more. I want more numbers than what I’m going to get.
I’m selfish that way.
But I won’t get them, and you know why? Because I have brain cancer. I have a freakin’ tumor growing on my brain, getting larger as my brain gets smaller and eventually that tumor will control the parts of my brain that controls my memory and my limbs and my lungs and my heart and one day my lungs will stop breathing and my heart will stop beating and I’ll be dead because of my stupid tumor, my stupid cancer.
My brain is eating itself as I speak and I can’t do anything about it. Those stupid cancer cells are multiplying too fast for my body to keep up and they just need to slow down and give me a couple more years and let me live my life.
I’m sick, and every day I have headaches to remind me of that. Every day, whenever my head aches and I can’t concentrate and I forget simple things it reminds me that my head is made of stupid cancer and I’m going to die an early death because my white blood cells can’t kill my brain, and they can’t be told to kill my brain when something else is controlling it and I just-
I hate cancer.
So much.
