"I'm afraid your son only has approximately 24 hours left before his heart gives out," the doctor broke the news to us with a sad, sympathetic look.
I smiled. I'd waited my whole life to hear that sentence. But, ya know, who doesn't wait their entire life to die? Most people don't mind waiting for death, and I don't either - I just don't wait patiently, letting the clock tick in vain. My wait for death was only a limited amount of time, and I wanted to do everything I could in the very short amount of life I had left.
I knew I would live a significantly shorter life than the average lifespan. I was the young age of 15. But for those 15 years, I had always had a weak heart. It was simply a matter of time.
And I hadn't let a second of my time go to waste.
Over the past year, I dropped school in pursuit to quench my thirst for risks. Not the stupid, mindless dares that would potentially harm me and others with me - the adventurous risks is what I had my heart set on. If my life was to be anything, it was to be an adventure. They called to me, they challenged me. And when they didn't call to me, I sought after them anyway. I had already accomplished many on my list: rappelling, zip lining, mountain climbing, bungee jumping, and so on. I had experienced more in a year than most people had in their lives. No big deal.
But I still had one more to cross off: skydiving.
Understandably, skydiving sounds a little frightening and downright insane. Despite all the highly trained professionals ensuring your safety, something could always go wrong. I wasn't afraid, because, well, what did I have to lose? There's a certain bravery you gain once you know your time limit. Especially if an accident results in my death, only a few hours were shaved off my life.
My parents and I quietly exited the building and made our way to the car. I was too wrapped up in my racing thoughts of falling through the air. I glanced up at the sky, and a triumphant feeling spread within me. I'm going to conquer the sky, I thought. It took me several minutes to get my head out of the clouds and notice my parents fidgeting. Even though we had both known this day was coming and my very plans for this day, it didn't occur to me until that moment that my parents weren't as carefree about the situation as I was. My parents had supported me in all my previous accomplishments that led up to this one, so what was there for me to worry about? I had overlooked the simple fact that my parents were going to miss me. Sadness was written all over their faces, and I felt bad for being impatient, but the clock was ticking.
My dad sighed, breaking the silence. "I guess we'd better hurry, right?"
"I'm not getting any younger," rolled off my tongue. I winced inside. I hadn't meant to come off so harsh. But I won't get much older either, I justified in my mind.
The drive was smooth, or at least until my mom broke down sobbing in the passenger seat.
"I know you had plans for today, but..."
"Mom..." I started. I knew where this was headed. "It's my last day. Can't I at least have the freedom to decide what I'll do for the last hours of my life?"
My dad took in a breath. I knew this to be a bad sign. If he got involved, he'd state his opinion, which was looking to be the same as Mother's, it would be over. I would spend my last hours on Earth at home, only overwhelmed with sorry, sappy relatives.
I couldn't allow that to happen.
Despite my determination, I lost the argument. After all the fears I'd defeated, all the adventures I'd completed, I was useless against the will of my dad. I fumed the rest of the way home, staring at the unreachable sky, teasing me for my failure. Then a plan began to form in my mind.
No, I thought. I won't let my life end like this.
The car pulled into the driveway of my home. My dad was the first to leave the car. I remained sitting in the backseat of the car, immoveable. Then my father opened the door.
"Now son," He said, ready to lecture me away about their "right" decision. But I wasn't there to hear it. I bolted from the car, running down the street. My friend's house wasn't too far from mine, and they would understand my circumstance. If they couldn't bring me to my desired location, spending time with them would beat spending time at my house.
In my rush, I'd forgotten one tiny, important thing: the fragile, weak state of my heart.
I wasn't supposed to run.
I'd only reached the end of the street when my heart gave out and I collapsed on the pavement, never to get up again.