It's cold.

Where are they? I need to find them. I need it. Now.

I can already feel the crushing pain beginning to bear down on my heart. The sound of it beating fills my eardrums.

I can't find anything in the dark. Not like this, at least.

I ache for the familiar clink, against the small glass vial. To let me breath loose, even and light, for sometime.

My filthy, grimy hands search the ground, rubbing against the concrete. Worn blankets, change, plastic wrappings and crumbs. No glass vial.

No.

It couldn't be.

But it is.

Gone.

I stand wearily, leaning for support against the wall. The paint is chipping. I can feel it flake as I rise. Fumbling, I finally find the light switch, and flick it on.

The room is a mess. Trashed from top to bottom.

I blink a few times, trying to get the blurry haze out of my vision, but it wont.

Right. That's one thing it solved. I forgot.

I throw on a jacket and head out, walking briskly. It hurts, but when you're alone, you've got to learn to suck it up. There's not much longer left, anyways. They thought it would help. Psht, they're so gullible. Everything is just a side effect of death. (QUOTE: John green)

Its fall. When did it become fall so fast?

The other, normal kids must be headed to school. School. I remember that. It's so long ago-it almost seems like another lifetime.

The leaves are falling. I'll bet they're pretty colors-not that I can see them. I used to like to paint them. When I could tell red apart from blue, and green apart from orange. I would sit with my easel after school, and paint. My mom, though the term doesn't really apply anymore, would look at my from her window and smile. I'll bet she thought: Wow, what a wonderful daughter we have. She couldn't think that for much longer, anyway, but that's another story. Stories are stupid. All they do is bring back other memories, so I prefer not to think about them.

"You dropped this." somebody says, and I spin around. Talking. People-with normal lives. Thing's that I don't cope well with.

I look at them. Its a boy-probably my age. He's holding out a paper. Is it mine? I guess so.

"You dropped this-it's yours." he repeats, holding it out towards me.

"T-thanks..." I manage to stutter out.

My lips are numb. Its early morning, and I've got nowhere to go. Everything hurts. Finger tips shake, with a gentle tremor, and I know I'm going to collapse. Not here... not now-but my body won't listen. Blackness surrounds me as I fall.



The first thing I notice when I regain consciousness is that its warm.

"You're finally awake." the boy says, smiling at me. He has a pretty smile. It's sweet and welcoming, makes me want to wrap myself up into it. "You passed out," he continues, "So I brought you back to my place."

Its not right for me to be here. Here in his home, with him beside me.

"My name is Luhan." he continues, regardless of my response.

Why isn't he scared of me? Everyone else is. My sunken eyes, hair and constant smell of smoke seems to drive most people off. Most of it isn't my fault, though I'm glad for the shield. My last house burnt down. Everything permanently smells of smoke.

"Are you feeling better?" Luhan asks, feeling my forehead.

I lower my eyes and shy away from his hand. No one else has ever been so bold.

"Its okay, I'm just trying to make sure you're okay." he replies, kindly but firmly.

I avert his eyes. I don't need his help.

"Look at me." Luhan says, his voice sharp.

I look up, slightly afraid.

"I just want to make sure you're not hurt." he says, softer, and touches my forehead once more.

I know what he'll feel. I'm burning, with a temperature of around 99.9 (degrees Fahrenheit). That's what it was the last time I checked, at least. It's not like I can do anything about it though. Everything's just temporary.

"You have pretty eyes." Luhan muttered, as he studies my face.

This comment takes me by surprise. My eyes. My friends, when I had them, always told my that my looks were my prettiest feature. The fact that I was skinny with straight hair. Everyone seemed to be jealous of that, but nobody ever said anything about my eyes.

Luhan fiddles through a box beside the bed, searching for something, and pulls out a thermometer.

"That won't help." I say in a small voice.

Luhan looks up at me, looking slightly confused.

"I'm sick." I say, biting my lip.

I don't know why I'm telling him all this. He's a complete stranger, but its been so long. Everything's been cooped up inside of me.

"Then I can get you medicine." Luhan offers.

"No-it's not that. I have heart cancer..." I mutter out, "It's fatal."

"How can I help you-"

"You can't. I'm going to die someday anyway. The medicine was only a temporary fix, to keep my going for sometime." I state, still staring straight ahead.

"You aren't trying to fix it?" Luhan asks with concern.

"Why should I? Nobody cares whether I die or not anyway." I mutter, and begin to climb up and out of the bed.

"Your ankles." Luhan points out, "They're swollen-you shouldn't walk on them."

"Like I said. Nobody cares. You can go back to being with the rest of the world." I reply.

I need to get out of here.

Now.

Its claustrophobic and stuffy and emotional and it's too much. I can't take it.

"I care." Luhan says firmly, walking up and taking me by the wrist.

Its been a long time since anybody's said that to me, and it hurts. But it's nothing to do with the disease. This is different. It's a sharp knife that slices through my thoughts, hopes and dreams.

"There's no hope for me." I say, my voice barely making it out as a whisper.

"Then I'll find hope."