I can feel the last moment coming. I can no longer see anything—everything is now a blur. The only thing I can hear is the heart monitor, and even that is only a dull bleep. I feel the need for air less and less. My lungs don't work anymore. My body is slowly ceasing to function.

I can see a figure enter the room, and I realize with agonizing slowness that it's my dad. Everything's blurring together. As I hear the beeps slowing, I know that I'm not going to last much longer. But between my fingers I can feel something. It's light and smooth, but there are strange folds.

My brain finally registers the object. A plane. A paper plane. The ones I got from him.

Despite the terrible life I've been living, I'm happy with my fourteen years. Maybe I didn't impact the world, but I impacted somebody, made their life happier.

So when the final moment comes, I have no trouble smiling.