Warning: this chapter contains some insults against Christianity, though it's more inferred than anything. If you're christian don't take any of it too personally because this is fiction. If it offends you I'm sorry. Also, if anything I say is wrong about the religion tell me. I know nothing about Christianity because I don't believe in it so there may be a mistake somewhere.

Unedited because this took long enough to write as it was. Add editing? No way.

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My eyes open. It takes sheer will but I open them.

What I see comes as a shock. I’d expected heaven—or hell, for that matter.

 Not this.

Not a white ceiling, so boring it hurts to look at. Unless the history books have it all wrong—which wouldn’t surprise me—I’m neither in heaven nor hell. Weren’t you supposed to see god, sitting upon his throne like the superior being he was? Or even Jesus? If I was being honest, the fact that I didn’t see him didn’t surprise me. God didn’t exact. Neither did Jesus. They were just made up people that had been created so people didn’t feel guilt over things that ‘they didn’t control.’ It was all lies—there was no god that granted magic wishes upon people and there was no god that controlled life and death. If that was true I wouldn’t be dead because someone had decided to give me cancer.

Why now? How did this happen? I can’t help but wonder. Sick as it may be, I hope that my death had been a spectacular one—some fireworks, a light show . . . something. I’m aware that it’s a little twisted to think that way but I can’t help it. I’d been nothing but ordinary my entire life. Yes, I’d had cancer but I hadn’t been the first child to be diagnosed. Would I be the last? No. More children would only suffer the same fate I had. I’d just wanted to do something that was memorable. Since it hadn’t happened when I was alive, I can only hope it had happened during my death.

Still, the question keeps plaguing my mind: how did I die?

I wish I could remember but I can’t. Every time I’d tried to remember, I’d just come up blank. Even now I was at a blank. I’d been hoping I’d find that out when the life flashing was supposed to happen. But that hadn’t happened yet. So it remained a mystery. I wasn’t sure if I’d ever find out but I hadn’t completely given up hope yet. Who knows, god might decide to grant me a dying wish. Maybe if I convinced him I was a believer, he’d give the opportunity to find out one thing.

It’s futile and probably not good for my psyche, but there’s a part of me that’s hoping I’m not dead. That somehow—in a miraculous recovery—I’ll come back to life.

 I hold onto the hope. Surely the white light is called that because it’s white. It makes sense. After all, who calls a purple room black? No one. So this has to be the white light. And if I’m right I could save me. This is supposed to be the part where your guardian angel is supposed to swoop in and rescue you from the brink of death. I’d failed to see my guardian angel throughout my life, so maybe, just maybe, they’d been waiting for the perfect opportunity. Now is as good as ever, I think, in hopes they’ll get the message quicker—

A black shadow fills my vision, almost blocking out the white. I squint, trying to get a closer look. My eyebrows draw in confusion. It looks like . . . hair? I can’t help frowning. Why would I see hair? This up-close?

“She moved! Her hand moved!” A feminine voice, sounding vaguely familiar yells, followed by heavy sobs.

A face appears, stunning blue eyes catching my attention instantly. They’re so familiar it hurts. The last thing I want to see it mum’s eyes, so familiar and so comforting. The tears I see in them would have killed me—if I wasn’t already dying. I have to remind myself that I’m imagining everything and I try to block the sight. I don’t want to see what the cancer has done to my family. Knowing is bad enough. I’d rather pretend to be ignorant to the fact that I’ll be leaving a heart broken family behind. I’d much rather remember the happier moments, before the tumour had started to spread too fast to stop.

It doesn’t work.

In an attempt, to remove the eyes, I squeeze my eyes shut.

When I open them again, I’m staring into the same thing.

I feel like sighing but I resist because I’m not even sure it’s possible.

This isn’t real. What’s the harm in pretending that she’s really in front of me?

“Hi,” I say. I can’t deny how surprised I am when I hear my voice. It sounds so loud and real I can almost believe that I am really talking. It’s weak and croaky, yet still blaring in my ears.

“Hi,” replies my mum—fake mum, I remind myself. I hear tears as well. Is that me? Can I even cry?

“I love you,” I mumble, wondering my voice sounds so hoarse.

A voice too gentle to be male speaks up this time. It sounds like dad but I’m not sure whether it is him or not—he’s never spoken so quietly, like he’s trying avoid spooking an animal. “What, baby?”

Mum’s eyes burning into my brain, I repeat, “I love you.” Then I can’t hold back. The tears start to fall—proving that I can indeed still cry. I repeat, over and over again, “I love you, I love you, I love you.”

Eventually, I force my eyes shut and just will away any thoughts.

I know it’s worked when everything just disappears.

*             *            *

Darkness. That’s all I see.

“She was moving! What happened to her! She was talking! And then she was gone! Gone!”

“Shh, you heard the doctor. He said it was a good sign. It means she’ll be okay. She’ll wake up and we’ll have our daughter back.”

“Look at her. She’s not moving. At all. Nothing’s okay. Oh, god, I haven’t even told Rick yet. I can’t do this. I can’t save her. I can’t go back in time and make her feel better. She’s my daughter. And she’s gone. I can’t be the strong one.”

“She’s not gone. Until I receive official notice that there’s nothing to do, I’m not giving up hope.”

“How can you stand there and be so calm, when your daughter is on that bed fighting for her life!”

“I’m not calm! I’m so far from calm it’s not funny. I’m being strong because you need me right now.”

“Don’t tell me what I need! I need my daughter and she’s not coming back. So forgive me, if I cry a few tears!”

“Come here baby. Shh, everything is going to be okay. Cry all you want, sweetheart. I promise you, I’ll do everything I can told help her. I don’t care what the cost is. I don’t care how long it takes. She will be fine.”

“No, she won’t! There’s nothing we can do! You heard the doctor.”

“I don’t trust one word that come out of that doctor’s mouth. He’s still living in the 19th century and he needs to get his head out of his ass.”

“But he’s a doctor. He knows. There’s nothing more we can do.”

“Yes there is. We can stay with her and let her know that she’s loved.”

The darkness is suddenly gone and light, so blindingly bright is all I can see. It brings tears and to my eyes and I hastily wipe them away—

My hand freezes.

I freeze.

My brain goes into overdrive. The question of how is the only thing running through my mind. How am I moving? How is there suddenly light.

“ . . . I can’t believe she’s gone. Why did this happen to her? She had her whole life in front of her and it all came crashing down. She was so beautiful and— and—”

“I know. But we gave her the freedom to live the way she wanted. We loved her. That’s all we could have done.”

“Why? Why her?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know.”

“How will we get through this? I can’t pretend everything is normal. I can’t act as if my daughter isn’t here anymore.”

“Shh, baby. Shh. We’ll get through this together. I promise you. Together—every step of the way.”

My head turns towards the voices, even in my shocked state. My body is ten times ahead of my mind—it still doesn’t know how I’m able to move.

Shock widen my eyes, almost to the point of pain. I blink, because there is no way, no way, I’m actually seeing what’s in front of me.

When I only continue to see the same thing, I don’t know how to react. Do I cry? Scream?

Does this mean I’m not dead? I think, as I continue to stare at my parents. They’re right in front of me, too real to be my imagination. The sight of mum, sobbing in dad’s arms breaks my heart. When a tear falls onto my arm I can’t bring myself to care. I’m too busy looking at the sight in front of me. More stressed out than I’ve seen him before, dad’s eyes are red-rimmed, a clear sign that he’s been crying. I’ve never seen my dad cry. As he comforts mum, who’s barely inconsolable, more unshed tears are in his eyes.

“Dad,” I croak, voice sounding hoarse like the time I had the cold and lost my voice—something that you don’t need to have when you’re already dying of cancer. Apparently though, the flu doesn’t stop for anyone, not even the dying girl.

“I can hear her,” mum sobs. “It’s her. Her voice. Oh god, what am I going to do? I can’t.”

“Shhh, sweetheart,” dad whispers, wiping the tears out of mum’s eyes.

Mum chokes on her breath, voice hiccupping. “I wish I could see her one more time. I want to see her. Hear her say that she loves me. Did she know I loved her?”

Dad shakes his head kissing her forehead. “She knew that we loved her. You did everything right with her.” His voice is quiet, as if he’s scared mum will run scared if he talks any louder. Or it’s because he’ll break down if he speaks to loud.

“I can’t do it without her. She wasn’t supposed to go. She had so much ahead of her. I can’t live without her. Why should she be gone? It should be me, not her.”

Her words snap me into action. I’d never let mum take the blame for anything—she hadn’t given me cancer and none of it was on her. Hearing her say that she should be the one in the hospital bed, kills me inside. “Mum,” I choke, a tear falling.

If anything, she only sobs louder.

“Mum,” I try again.

Dad looks over in my direction, eyes glassy. As his eyes land on me, they fill with tears—a sign of weakness that dad rarely shows.

“Dad,” I croak, reaching my hand out. It takes effort but I’m able to lift it. “Dad, I’m not—” My voice breaks off, cracking with emotion. His tear filled eyes match mine now, only mine fall.

“Alyson?” Dad breathes, shock and awe in his voice.

“Dad,” I gasp, trying to sit up. Some blocks my attempt and I look down to see an IV drip in my arm. I tug experimentally and, all at once, the machines I didn’t even know that were there, go crazy. Insistent beeping rings in my ears.

The sound catches mums attention, and she looks over, head moving so fast I worry about whiplash. Her eyes blow wide, mouth parting in shock. No sound comes out, even as her mouth continues to move like she’s trying to talk.

I try to move, try to go to her, but it only succeeds in annoying the machine more. Annoyed I reach down, ready to rip out the IV if I have to. I know how bad it is to rip out anything that doctor’s stab you with during an operation—thanks to more rounds of chemo that I can count on two hands,—but right now I just want to go to mum, grab her and never let her go.

Dad foils my plan before I can even put it into action. So fast, I can barely catch the movement, he’s by my side grabbing my hand before I can touch to IV. “Don’t do that. I don’t want you to hurt yourself.”

I stare at him, helpless to stop the tears falling. “Dad— I—” I can’t get the words out and it’s not because of pain. There are too many things I want to say and I can’t get any of them out. I’m so overcome with emotion I can feel them all lodged in my throat.

He grabs my hand, his hold so gentle I barely feel it, and squeezes. “Are you okay? Can I get you anything?”

His words bring more tears to my eyes. Dad is always the protector, and the strongest one in the family—though I’ve often heard him argue that I was the strongest. He’s the one who can put all his emotions behind him and focus on whoever needs comforted or protected. Right now, I know he’s hurting but he’ll hide it because in this moment, to him, my emotions are more important.

“I love you,” I choke, trying to smile through my tears.

“I love you too,” he says, smiling gently.

I look over at mum. Now she’s standing but she looks frozen on the spot. The tears in her eyes are shining but she’s not saying a word, her mouth opening and closing soundlessly. “Mum,” I say, heart breaking into a million pieces as she continues to cry. Her tears are silent now but they speak volumes without making a sound.

When she doesn’t move, I smile at her, forcing my voice to sound even though I’m sure I still sound like I’m about to break down. “Mum, I’m okay. Come here.”

She shakes her head, staring at me with wide eyes. “No. You’re not real. I’m not falling for it. My daughters gone and you’re not her. You’re not— not— You’re not her—”

I watch on helplessly as she falls to the floor, facing in her hands, sobbing so loudly it echoes around the hospital room.

Panicked, I look at dad for support. He looks just as helpless as I feel.

Without a second thought, I rip the IV out of my arm, ignoring the slight pain I feel. I pull the breathing tube out of my nose too when I discover it’s there. In one movement—how I manage to do it is lost on me—I’m off the bed and standing on the hospital floor. My sense of vertigo disappears on me, as the room starts to spin. Ignoring the dizziness, I rush to mum, collapsing on the floor beside her.

“Alyson,” dad warns behind me, a minute too late.

Mum looks up at me, more broken than I’ve ever seen her before. Shaking her head from side to side repeatedly, she mumbles, “No. No. It can’t be you.”

Grabbing her arm, I say, “No, mum. It is me. I’m here.” I don’t even need to force my voice to be strong and not at all like I feel emotionally.

Her head just continues to shake. When she speaks her voice is bordering on hysterical, “It can’t be you. It can’t be. Go away. Get away from me. Please. Get away from me.”

Knowing I won’t get through to her, I just grab her and hold tight. She grips back, just as tight. Within seconds her tears are soaking my shoulder—since the hospital gown is so thin. I hold her as she rocks back and forth, gripping me like I’m her lifeline.

“I love you,” I whisper, letting her grip as hard as she wants.

She doesn’t say it back, only mumbling, barely coherently, “No. Not you. Not you. What am I going to do without you? You can’t leave me, I love you. I need you.”

Unable to stop my tears, I just grip her tighter, telling her words that I know she won’t believe. I hadn’t been expecting anything different—her daughter had just died and in her mind, she couldn’t fathom the idea that I wasn’t gone. I still couldn’t believe it. I didn’t care though—I was here and I was going to make the most of it.

“I love you,” I whisper, over and over, hoping the words will sink in eventually.

*             *             *

I found out that they don’t sink in at all.

I don’t even know how long I sit there on the floor, trying to convince her that this is real. No matter what I say, or how hard I hold her, or the number of tears that fall from her eyes, I don’t convince. She still continues to mumble, breaking my heart when I didn’t think it could break anymore.

Eventually she just falls asleep against me and I just hold her, relishing in the feeling of being in the arms of my mum. She’s here and I’m here. And I’m making the most of it.

Long ago, reality had set in and I’d realised I’d die a child but knowing and experiencing are two different things. Only now have I realised how gifted I truly am. Sure I have cancer but I’m one of the lucky ones. Some cancers are gave already progressed to far to slow the tumour down. I was given nearly seven years to live, whereas others don’t even get a year.

I look to dad, whose still standing where he was when I woke up—against the bed. I frown at him, worried instantly. He looks like he’s aged ten years in however long I was in a zombie state. “Dad,” I whisper, voice hoarse from the amount of tears I’ve cried.

He stares at me and the single tear that falls from his eyes, falls in slow motion. He doesn’t blink it away, staring at me, without shame.

I love you, I mouth.

He smiles sadly, walking over eyes on mum. The expression on his face is sad—haunted. As he grabs her from me, his hand reaches out and squeezes mine, telling me more than any words could. Laying mum over two chairs in the room, he walks back over.

I smile up at him when he stands over me, just staring at me. I grab his hands without hesitation when he offers them. Immediately, I’m pulled into his chest, strong arms wrapping around me, holding me so delicately it’s like I’ll break.

“I love you,” I say into his chest. They’re the only words I can offer right now that tell him what I’m feeling.

“I love you too,” he whispers back, resting his chin atop my head.

I’m grateful for his arms holding me up because I know that if it weren’t for them I wouldn’t be able to stand up. My legs feel like jelly and my lung is burning. It’s unusual that I’m breathless without doing anything but after almost dying, I’m not surprised if my lung doesn’t even want to work anymore.

“I— lo— I—”

He kisses my forehead, whispering, “I know.”

I don’t try to speak again, glad he knows that no words I can say are strong enough to say everything I want to.

Slowly we drift into silence—calm, soothing silence where I’m content to just feel him against me and feel the connection we have.

*             *             *

The calm is broken when the doors of the hospital room burst open. Strangers rush into the room in a flurry of panic, wearing white doctor coats.

Before I know it I’m ripped away from dad and I’m forced to lie on the bed, with people surrounding me from everywhere.

Hands grab.

Something stabs.

Dad yells.

Then everything is silent.

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That's the end of the chapter :)

One more chapter and then a new character will be introduced. Any guesses on who it will be?

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~ littlemissflawed