I am unafraid of the inevitable, I am unafraid of the words from your mouth, I am unafraid of the sickness in my bones.

I chant a mantra of security as I feel the wind sweep beneath the gavel of my fate as it rises to slam upon my heart, seal my memories from my mind and riddle my bones with irrelevance. I hold my head high as I hear the door creek, the doctor's patent shoes clicking delightfully against the ground. I can feel the breath tangling in his throat at the sudden refusal to speak, I know the words that'll escape him, words I'm unsure if I'm ready to hear. Regardless, I stand my ground upon this ridiculing table, wrap my tail around my paws and prepare for the enlightenment I knew I'd skew instantly.

"It's not good news, it's cancer, and it's not going to get better."

There's a clock somewhere in here, I can hear the hand ticking gently in the background. I wonder what they look like, perhaps an obscure shape to match this scenery of distorted emotions, a background of eyes ticking back and forth watching every single person walk by. A glint catches the floor and I follow it around the room like a wayward kit, watch it beam across the endless rows of white cabinets and white coats and gloves and bottles and contraptions of all sorts. It stops at the window, disappears into the only colour pouring into this desolate room of crackling silence, and the ticking stops. Time has simply stopped moving to embrace the moment I'm ignoring. I have cancer. I have cancer.

I never enjoyed car journeys. Something about the constant artificial movement and accelerated pictures of a still world surrounding me never quite appealed to me, plus the turbulence doesn't quite settle well with my ageing stomach. But I knew I had to make the most of this one, embrace every attribute of the car I sit in, because it'll be the last time I ever ride in it. Claws digging into the seat, I feel the material harsh yet soft against my pads, the decorative bumps pushing gently into my back and I lean into the cushion. A small coating of dust lingers contently upon the dashboard, a few flashing lights remind me to remind him to pay the garage a visit for once. I doubt he's interested now, not now he knows we have to say goodbye. I swallow my pride and glance towards him, my frail-faced Twoleg dressed smart for the occasion. I can trace every wrinkle on one side, not the other for a strange reason, I can spot the button connected to the wrong hole and destroying the symmetry completely, I can see the stray tear rolling down his cheek. I stop analysing.

"I knew it was coming, I don't know why I'm crying," he despaired in a soft voice, wiping his face. His voice is that same elderly husk I always remember, but I've never quite heard such a broken tone. I twitch my whisker in response.

He sighs, feeling the emotions welling in his heart. "You've given me so much joy, my old friend, I hope you know that."

I felt that one. Deep in this withering soul I can taste the anguish of loss, something I know everyone I love shall feel in my departure. I grimace, for I have never felt something so strong, so powerful and overwhelming, and yet so dull and empty. I recall deaths in numbers I have witnessed, the life sparking flat from their eyes and pupils rolling into permanent disarray, but I cannot recall myself feeling such pain. 

A figure flashes in me, and I retract my statement. How I have buried that death so far within me I'll never know, and I don't think I want to.

Our journey comes to an abrupt halt as he pulls the break, the roar of the engine extinguished in one simple click. I embrace the sound in echoes travelling through my ears, treasure every wave I cannot see, for I'll never hear such a noise again. I can see the cat-flap in the door I am most familiar with, but I will not hurry during such a sentimental time; I wait to enter with him, like the truest of companions would. Immediately I am filled with the sounds of idle chatter from those I love, and brewing within me is the compassion to explain to them what I've heard, but I'm not courageous enough. I've done many things in my time, but breaking the hearts of those I love is not something I want to add to that list, not now. I pass them by swifter than over, barely allowing my paws to sink into the softening carpet as I head straight for the garden. The call of my niece, her maturing tone still hinting at a touch of that juvenile purr I always remember in her, but I don't answer her. I don't have the strength.

I pick my way through the prickled grass; a lawnmower recently tainted the softness of such a material and pushed it away into a spiny trek to maintain a pleasant aesthetic. Scents of roses sweeten the air, daisies poke nosily from the soil and demand an explanation for the setting sun behind the fence, carefully kept tomato plants produce green buds soon to flourish into a steady supply of produce. I treasure this garden from the bottom of my heart, the serenity it gifts me can never be replicated. But regardless of what I feel for this corner in the world, I leap upon the shuddering fence to see a home I abandoned, discovered through my curious nature and nose twitching with youth and excitement. Steadying myself, tail wrapped around my paws and eyes darting to a close, I begin to feel the cogs of my mind whirr for the last time as my illness deteriorates my body, my soul, my memories. I shan't let these go without one last visit, for they are all I have left now. Materialistic possessions mean nothing to me now, the words of sorrow from those I love bounce from my thickened skin. It's funny what dying can do to you, the mask it grows across your eyes to from a masquerade of ventriloquism with black puppet strings and elaborate costumes of my romanticised fate. 

I am going to die. I have cancer, and I am going to die. But not before I revisit the path I took that led me to such an end.

I have cancer. 

~Hello everyone! Welcome to my book Hindsight, I hope you'll enjoy this story. Written by Hazel, if you must know :)~