It was a short pause. The doctor was kind of a sorry. I could see that he's faking. He saw many cases like me and he's in a cosmic ease because all those bastards have the damn thing but not him. I smiled like an ice box. It wasn't a really surprise. 2 or 3 packets of cigarettes a day. So what I'd expect?!
All what I felt is like my haunting nightmare came true. I always told my friends that I know that my life is going to be short. I saw it coming, the light stroke, but not in my side, I guess.
It was like a thunder ice ball. The more you move the more you pale. I realized that my days on earth are few. My countdown passenger boarding has begun. I began to fell fear strolling easily down my chest. I thought of all the pretty women I saw. Every seldom cat I've raised. Every night in victorious aura swept with joy. I felt like am going far. Far away. I felt like am about crying while am walking down the street. I never thought I might be that coward.
I left the doctor while he was asking me about the radiation treatment costs. "I need nothing" I said. He stopped. Looked at me with a still eyes. He surely knows that kind of depression takes over the bastards after hearing the bad news. He stroked my back while saying in fake-worm-tone "I'll see you next Monday".
He could tell that I stay alone. In the dark. Eyes opened and heavens are fading. A sound would cry, he sure can hear it, I don't wanna die.
I stepped to my room. I gathered my books. I putted it just before my eyes. I touched it with my finger nails. Swiftly and smoothly. I felt like waving my palm on them. Feeling them. Those are me. My very thing says there was a guy passed there.
A friend worn me of my three-packets-of-cigarettes-a day. I told her simply that I don't care. We all gonna die, anyway.
Now I can smell death. I can see his face. All what am hopping is to die gracefully. I don't wanna lay on a bed had the smell of the dead body was resting there before. I don't wanna see the pathetic eye looks glimmering out of my visitors' eyes.
No. I'd not take a treatment. I prefer to die standing. My cigarette is on my mouth. My fingers playing with the keyboard to bring another novel to life. Those fingers who feel death could do a miracle for the souls of words whom in wait to live down the chests of the readers.
I'll die like everybody else. I'd not tell my family. I'd not tell my friends. I'd not tell anybody. I'd stand till the fate got me a way to visit what I have never saw before. I'd not fight my body because it's my body. You have to be a real maniac to fight your own body. He'll be in wait for you, even if you had a lousy so-called victory. Some day they'd find your body's fingers. He's back again. He'll make you wait in terror every six months. I can't bare this. All I want is to die like what I've always lived, not caring for anything. Besides, I must admit, if it's my body's will, so I do believe: my body knows best..
I must call my doctor now, I must have plenty, too much very plenty of pain killers for the coming years, or months, or even days….