The Boy | Teen Ink

The Boy

February 5, 2018
By bo_olsen PLATINUM, Nampa, Idaho
bo_olsen PLATINUM, Nampa, Idaho
28 articles 1 photo 60 comments

Favorite Quote:
"I Solemnly Swear That I Am Up To No Good"

I am not a hero. I do not have super powers, and I will not use them to save the world. I am a dying girl, trapped inside a grey hospital room everyday. I have stage six cancer, or something. Whatever it is, it’s killing me. And slowly.
I don’t even ever get to see the outside. I don’t get to know when it’s cloudy, or when it’s a perfectly sunny day.  I only ever know if it’s raining.
My only visitors are nurses and doctors.
They bring their falsely cheerful faces with statements like: “how are we feeling today?” and “it’s time for some more pills!” and “do you need something to eat?” They prick and poke at me, drawing blood, looking for a cure that they will never find… not in time for me to live.
I have no human friends, and my family abandoned me a long time ago. My only friends are the shadows and cracks on the ceiling.
Sometimes I like to imagine The Boy. The Boy comes to visit me, and tells me jokes. He brings me flowers, and sits with me. He tells me that he is also looking for a cure, and that he’ll find it no matter the cost.
He tells me he loves me.
But after a while, I grow too weak to imagine The Boy. He fades from my memory, as if the tide is taking him away from me. So I lay there, watching TV day after day after day, just waiting for my time to be up.
And then… someone visits me. A small boy, no older than six. He comes into my room and sits on my bed and he stares at me. He’s holding a teddy bear. I ask him what he wants.
He tells me that his mom is very sick, and that he does not know what to do.
I tell him to be strong for her, that she’ll like it if he’s strong for her.
He smiles sweetly at me and holds my hand. He asks me if I’m sick too.
I tell him I am, but that I will be in Heaven soon, and that Heaven is a better place. He holds my hand tighter and tells me he’s sorry. I smile at him and ask him what his name is. He almost answers, but a nurse comes in, and takes him away.
He cries as he’s dragged away. His bear sits on my bed, its button eyes glinting dully up at me. I weakly pick it up and hold it to my chest and for the first time since my admission to the hospital, I allow myself to cry.
I am not a hero. I am only a dying girl in a hospital. And maybe someday, someone else will save the world.

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