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Backwards Promises
Mommy kissed me on the cheek when she left, whispering promises in my ear. When she leaves, Daddy hangs his head against the wall, and the tears flow freely. I won't see her again till later, much later.
Years of TV dinners add up, and I watch the television, looking for a glimpse of a face, a face so much like my own, the face behind the cracked picture frame glass.
When I am diagnosed, Daddy cries, praying his tears with draw away my pain, as the needles feed it into me. I know that I am going to die.
Treatments are futile when one has decided that death is definite.
Hospital rooms are so white, and so sterile although they always have a funny smell. I watch Daddy sleep in a chair, my guardian. He holds a letter in his hand, Mommy sent it when he told her of my condition. He worked hard to find her, find her for me.
Mommy fills up a hospital room by herself. On her wool coat I can smell a light perfume that leaves a residue on my blankets. Daddy watches her from a corner. I wanted to see her so badly, but now that she's here, I'm not sure. Once again she has whispered promises, backwards promises about me living. I cannot fulfill her promises, when I have promised to die.
Breathing is much too hard and I know the time has come. I can feel a single tear in my hair, and I know it is Daddy's, because it is the same tear I saw on his face when Mommy left. Daddy never left.
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