My days are numbered. I am infected with some fatal disease that I can never remember the name of, and I am expected to live for a few months, a year if I am lucky. Since I was brought to this hospital two weeks ago, when my typical coughing suddenly grew worse, I was diagnosed and pronounced incurable. Staying in bed all day, I couldn't help but hate life. I don't want to spend my days—especially not my last—in some rough bed with thin blankets, nurses rushing in and out to ask "How are you feeling?" and "Do you need anything?"

So I snuck out. It was the easiest way to find peace within my mind. In that sterile white and metallic place, I was going out of my mind. I first went around in my hospital gown, the thin white fabric hanging around my fragile, stick-like body. I wandered around the polluted city, looking at the glass buildings with thin layers of dust on the sides. I saw fenced in buildings with lifeless people walking in and out of them. Finally, one day I decided to walk to somewhere where I was too scared to go before: My dad's workplace. He didn't work in some office building, but at a camp: namely, a labor camp, where the people were given scant rations and worked towards their death, or were flat out gassed in ten minutes, the people's naked bodies falling heavily to the ground, their breath sucked out of them and replaced with poison.

The saddest part was knowing that if I saw anyone, that they were going through that harsh life. And though I knew that my dad didn't want me there, I didn't want myself there, and no one in society wanted me there, my legs still carried me there.

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I am still quite some distance away before I see him. Dirty blonde hair shone on his head, the longer strands pulled back into a short ponytail. He had ripped black clothes, undoubtedly worn for months on end, and dull blue eyes with the barest hint of life. His cream-colored skin was covered with dirt, but I am still drawn towards him. There is something in this boy, something that I can't convey, but that something drew me towards him with a force stronger than gravity. Maybe it is love at first sight, but that moment marks the beginning of a world almost too good to be true.

I don't want to run, and try my best to ignore feeling like I could only get there fast enough by running. I don't want him to know that I think what I do about him, and I know that I'd only die faster if I ran. Maybe, if only subconsciously, I know that he is my last chance at life.

My agonizingly slow pace annoys me out of my mind. I feel like if I didn't get there within a minute, then I would miss out on my chance at life forever. But I force the feeling down. If I got there, and it wasn't all just an illusion, and my feelings weren't just shoved away, then maybe my trip wasn't for naught after all.

There is an electric fence surrounding the camp, its low hum strangely comforting. I realize that it prevents prisoners that want to escape from getting out. If they want to scale the fence, they would get electrocuted.

It is the perfect barrier. A barrier between worlds. But who said worlds were unbridgeable?

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As I get closer to him, I can make out the individual smudges on his face. I can see his dark blue eyes following my every move. I take a step forward, his eyes move sideways. I take another step, and they move sideways again. On and on it went, my eyes on his and his on my steps. Forward, side. Forward, side. Then I am right in front of him and facing him directly, my eyes wide open with curiosity.

I venture out a single word, my voice an octave higher than usual. "Hi."

He hesitates a bit, like he knows that we're both in trouble if we're caught interacting. His eyes convey a message of urgency and fear. When he finally talks, his voice is rough and uncouth. "You should go."

I don't want to leave. I want to stay and chat. I am not letting this final chance go so easily. "I'm staying," I say, my mouth starting to frown.

"I'm telling you to go," he insists. "Not asking."

My face smiles a little. "And I'm telling you I'm staying. Not asking for permission."

I can't see that he is falling too, or else I would have understood his expression. Hidden want, forced down relief, and a whole lot of fear.

"We're both goners if you stay. You know that, right? I'm asking you to go for both of us. I'm not trying to be selfish."

My grin widens. "Then I'm very selfish. I'm staying."

He gives up on me leaving then. Instead, he says, "What're you doing here, anyway? No one ever wants to come here."

"My dad works here. I thought I'd visit."

A frown forms and his eyes question me. "Visit the fence? Why not the front door?"

"He doesn't want me here. He thinks it's bad for me."

I think he wants to snort, but can't find the strength to do so. "It's bad for everyone." He pauses, then asks, "You do know what this place is, right?"

"Of course."

There's a long silence between the two of us. I can hear the wind howling, and I watch the few blades of grass still left in the area bend and blow. But the flower in front of me seems to stand straighter than ever.

I start the conversation up again. I can't afford to let it go. I have to keep talking. "We should talk again."

"You think so?" he asks, his excitement only thinly masked. "When?"

"I don't know," I admit. "Maybe tomorrow?"

"We can't chat for long," he says. "But sure. At sundown."

This puts a smile on both of our faces. "Yes."

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The next day, I come back, the sky pink and purple, slowly darkening to a black, just like my feelings. He isn't there. I walk back to the hospital, my heart sinking. Why wasn't he there? Did he screw up the time? No. He was the one that suggested it. He can't have possibly decided that he couldn't have made our meeting. We only decided it yesterday! That's not possible. Did he ditch in an attempt to discourage my visiting? No. That's not it either. He knew I'd come, and I'll never stop. Maybe our conversation yesterday was short, but he got my message, loud and clear. Why, why, why?

The next day, I go again. I refuse to get discouraged. I met this boy here, and I am going to do it again. No matter how long it takes. I don't see him when I arrive. Maybe he is just late. That's understandable. I decide to take a short walk in the dirty city and look around at all the things that I saw when I first left the hospital. It's strange, looking at all these things. It is like they are a thing of the past, though the enclosed spaces still somehow reminded me of the freedom that I am doomed to never really have.

When I'm satisfied that when I get back to the fence that it will be sundown, I head back. Just when the first black comes, I see a dark shape come bounding over the hill, panting heavily.

I squint my eyes a little, my heart starting to race. Is it too much to hope for?

Apparently not.

Before I even have a chance to say 'hi,' he beats me to it.

"I'm so sorry," he spits out, as if he can't get the words out quickly enough. "There was... an... unexpected... event... yesterday... and I... didn't... have time... to get... here."

I'm laughing almost before he finished. "It's okay!" I get out between bursts. "I only waited about five minutes for you before I left. Just recover your breath first!"

He takes in several deep breaths, his frail body shaking beneath the torn black fabric. "Oh," he says. "Oh."

I hear the underlying current of what he's thinking. What, you didn't care enough about me to wait longer than five minutes? You can't bother to wait a bit longer than that? After all that you put me through, scaring me half to death by not leaving, you can't even be bothered to stay?

"No!" I say, my laughter instantly gone. "That's not what I meant. I mean, I managed to wait here today, right?" It's not entirely the truth, but it's not a lie either. I did wait for him—just not right in front of the fence.

I can see the surprise and shock apparent in his face. His thoughts loud and clear now. How'd you know what I was thinking? But he hides it quickly. "Yeah," he says, smiling. "Thanks."

My idea that was swimming around in my head is about to leave. But I am not about to just let it go without it being spoken. "How would you like to talk more, but with less chance of getting caught?"

His face brightens for a moment, and we both know it existed, but he doesn't let it last. Soon it's gone right back to its neutral expression. "How?" The word is so filled with hope that I thought was lost long ago, and some sort of excitement that I was so scared of not being returned that I almost forget my idea.

That excitement is all I need. A real smile, unlike the countless that I wore before, is here. "Have you ever heard of a paper plane?"