Hello, so after realizing that the post I made yesterday, “”, was a piece that explored many things, but most of all had some interesting writing styles, hopefully if you have read it till the end you will notice those decisions i decided to make. And that whole fiasco made me think “Wait, haven’t I done this before?” And I did, actually. In a 4 part series titled “The Feeling Of Living.” It’s a short story collection? Well, I wouldn’t call it a novella just yet, but it’s four pieces compromising of one over arching plot and it’s basically about a boy who’s on his death bed (No spoilers here, it’s in the first paragraph, really, give it a go.) And yeah, so I’m now going back to do some edits here and there but I guess it might be fun to share since this was one of my earlier I guess short story compilations? I don’t know what to call it. I wouldn’t novella-classify it just yet because of it’s length though. Anyway, here we go, the first chapter of this series I guess, “The Feeling of Nostalgia.”
Sometimes; you just have to wonder; why does disease exist? In a way, I guess you could say it’s to prevent us from growing too much. But if you put it like that, it turns into a really sad notion. So, why does disease exist? Some people might say, it’s to show us how much our mistakes can affect us, and so that we would be more careful in the future. That notion makes sense. If we don’t straighten up our act, disease is the least of the things we have to worry about. Human beings in of themselves are designed to be flawed. I can’t say I’m not. But, sitting here on my deathbed, I just have to wonder; why does disease exist?
It may be a little sad to say, but, I’ve recently figured out, or rather, I’ve recently been diagnosed with a rare disease. They say that I won’t be waking up to see another day. Or in short, I’m destined to die. How long? Well, sitting here, and looking up at the clock, I’d have to say, twelve hours. Sitting here on my deathbed; seven o’clock in the morning; I have twelve more hours to live.
When I first learned that I had such a deadly disease in me, I felt mortified. My mind went blank, and I couldn’t do anything or think of anything. I was simply at awe, and I felt like an invisible force was pulling my body away from the earth. I felt like my body was being ripped to shreds and; in that room, where they diagnosed me, I screamed. I screamed at the top of my lungs, I screamed and screamed, until my voice gave in. It was a scary experience, and I couldn’t handle it. I wanted it to be a dream, but the day after, the papers were still on my desk, and the only thing I could do was punch the wall. It wasn’t a dream.
That was a week ago. A week; before my third year of middle school. A week, before my final year of middle school. A week, of my last days on earth. Thinking back, I could remember that one of the things I said I wanted to be, was an adult. Looking back at that notion, gives me a smile on my face. It was stupid, but I’m sure we’ve all said it at one point. “I want to be an adult.” Well, even if it was just a stupid childish dream, ironically, I can’t fulfill it; even if I wanted to. I guess now I can call it; a wistful dream.
All it took was a few words from the doctor, and my life was completely turned upside down. One week felt so short. It flew by before I knew it, and it flew by before I could even enjoy it. “Now going into my third year of middle school; Takashi Hiroshi.” Those words are something that, I stupidly admit; practiced in the mirror. I was excited by the fact that I was heading into my last year, but I didn’t think that my second year of middle school was just one of two things that were ending. “Now about to die as a third year middle school student; Takashi Hiroshi.” I learned that since I never finished middle school; technically, my highest level of education would be grade school. Just like if you don’t finish high school, some people are marked only as finishing middle school. That really hurts.
I asked something to my doctors when I acquired the disease. And they just had to spoil the remaining pitiful days of my life even more. They said I was born with it. They said that this disease was with me all along. Why they didn’t take any action earlier was because of its maturing period. Apparently my parents knew all about this disease. They said that the chances of it actually doing anything was very, very slim. I guess I was just really fat.
My parents grieved for days. They couldn’t stop crying, and whenever I walked past them, I could see sadness oozing from their eyes. It was scary. The blank and dark expressions they gave me sent chills up my back and I could never sleep seeing their faces. They were utterly mortified and I….. I couldn’t do anything about it. I couldn’t do anything about it. I couldn’t do anything about it. I, couldn’t do anything about it. I; could do anything about it. I, couldn’t, do, anything, about, it.
I felt tears streaming from my face, and I wiped them casually.
My parents, couldn’t stop crying either. They just wept throughout the night, and in turn it kept me up. Days after days of restless nights. Days after days of lost time. I really wish I had spent more time with my parents. But then again, it would only cause them more pain. I don’t know what will happen from this day on, but I really do hope that they can endure through their pain, and live on without me. Because, that’s the only thing I’m asking them to do. Live on.
My life, up till this point hasn’t been that bad, actually. It was full of ups and downs of course, but, I guess I enjoyed it. I have twelve hours to live, and, being stuck in this hospital room isn’t exactly my way to go. I stepped out and into the lounge area, where patients were free to roam. Except on this day, I was the only one here. It was quiet, full of nothingness, and usually, I would enjoy this kind of silence. I still do, but today, I’m just not in the mood. I sat down near the windows and looked outside. The flowers swayed against the wind, creating a floral dance that stimulated my eyes.
I sighed and wondered how much people I would be hurting. My parents, my relatives, my friends. Myself. Unfortunately, this was the kind of pain that I had no control over. No matter how much I beg, no matter how much I pray; there’s no stopping the inevitable.
I could feel myself tearing up again, but I tried my best to hold it in. There was no tissues nearby, and I didn’t feel like getting up.
The wind blew again, and the flowers swayed. How much time, have I spent sitting here and watching the flowers was a mystery, but in a way this has become my new home. This quietness that some people may see as painstaking, has; over the past week; been my relief. Of course, sometimes, that’s not always the case. And, since I don’t feel like watching T.V, the only way to get away from my quietness, is with myself. I never really thought about it, and I guess it’s now or never, but, It’s time to re-count my life. It sounds cheesy, but a little reflection and a little stroll down memory lane is the only thing I can do at this point. It’s the only thing I can do to reassure myself that I had some meaning in this life. In this desolate life.
It’s time to experience, the feeling of nostalgia.