A/N: hey weirdos. I had to write a short story for one of my writing classes - here it is. I’m also in the middle of writing a book, it’s called Dead Reckoning, but I’m a lazy student and decided to take the first chapter of my book and turn it in for my assignment. I’m also writing a short film based off of said book for my script writing class, again - lazy student. I haven’t started the script yet and it’s due Wednesday oops. ANYWAY - here’s the first chapter. Tell me what you think and if you’d read more of it?? Could really use the feedback considering this stuff is for my final. I’d love you forever and ever. xx
Death is uncomfortable. It’s awkward, heart-wrenching, relieving for some I guess, downright fucking awful, or all of the above. This is one of those “all of the above” situations.
Dad had been sick for a while, but he never told any of us. Like, at all.
All of the times he said he was staying late at work we never questioned. He was a writer for the paper, it was standard. Apparently “late at work” now constituted as him driving thirty minutes outside of town to the nearest hospital every three Wednesdays; Chemotherapy.
We couldn’t tell he was losing all of his hair, because he was already bald by choice and bleach blonde by nature, nonetheless. We never noticed he was getting weaker, he had Crohn’s and spent a lot of time in the bathroom and always went for a run every morning.
Ewings Sarcoma is the name, killing you slowly from the inside out is the game.
From what I’ve had time to Google in the past forty-eight hours, it’s a rare form that only arises every now and again.
“Highly malignant, primitive small round cell tumor of the bone. Usually found in long bones, ribs, and flat bones of children or adolescents, although it has been reported in the adult population.”
“…although it has been reported in the adult population.” Ding ding ding, we have a winner.