Briana Plummer
The inspiration behind this piece, was to write something outside of my comfort zone and explore sensory elements to make the reader feel with the theme of death/grief. This piece demonstrates me as writer because it exhibits sensory language and details that I often incorporate in my works. This year I have worked on improving my diction choices, building my vocabulary, and stepping out of my comfort zone by trying new styles of writing. My goal is to continue building my writing skills, challenging myself as a writer, and trying out different styles of writing.
Ticking Timer
There are people constantly surrounding me during the day. Classmates, nurses, and relatives I’ve never seen before. It’s Always somebody new, but I only ever pay attention to three of them. My depressed mother, overworked dad, and frightened younger sister. It’s all because of me, I’ve caused my family so much pain. Even with my foggy vision, which is gradually getting worse, I can still see the pity in their eyes. The poor girl who’s anchored to the hospital bed. The poor girl, she’s so weak. The poor girl, her days are running out.
The same people who pity me are the same ones that lie the most.
You’ll get through this, I promise! You’re kicking cancer’s butt!
From time to time I catch myself drifting off and sleeping the entire day away. I’ve lost count of the days and I can’t find the energy to do anything but lie here and think. Think about how I want to be “kicking cancer’s butt.” But I know good health isn’t an option for my condition. I’ve accepted the fact that cancer controls everything about me. My energy, what I can and can’t eat, where I can and can’t go, and when I die. Cancer owns me.
My family is always around not really making it any better, though I know they mean well. It gets hot and sticky from all the bodies trying to cram into my tiny room. I’m always being bombarded with doctors giving me strange liquids, taking my measurements then frowning, and getting my hopes up just to be let down with bad news again. I'm tired.
For the past few days, the pitter-patter of my heart beating is like a ticking timer waiting to stop. My pale skin drained of its color also drained of its life.
The air conditioning brushes against my bare scalp and travels, sending chills down my spine, but I don’t react. I can’t, I feel frozen. Fatigue begins to overwhelm my body.
I’ve fought for most of my life. I’m tired.
My family has spent thousands on treatments for me. They’ve spent countless hours in this hospital, praying. They’ve given me everything. Just for me to lie here and die. I wish I could find the strength to thank my family for trying to save me. I can’t even open my mouth. I look into their eyes and a stream of tears pour down my face unwillingly. My sister wails out to my mother, knowing what’s about to happen
“Ssshh, Valerie.” My mom bends down to her level. “Your sister is going to a much much much better place.”
“D-Do you promise?” She whimpers. That comment sends my mom over the edge and she begins to cry. My father too bends down with my mother and sister comforting both.
“Yes. I promise.” My father says.
They rise from the ground with sadness painted all over their faces. This is all my fault. It’s time for me to go, so this will be the last time my family has to go through this pain.
I looked into my mother’s dreary eyes and I had just enough strength built up for a smile. Then I gently close my eyes let the exhaustion consume me. The sharp pain I’m always feeling slowly eases into icy numbness. I lose the feeling of the bed beneath me. I hear the cries of my relatives surrounding me, but I focus on my heart beating. The ticking gets slower and slower, times up. It feels nice to finally let go.