Peace On My Birthday

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Other  |  House: Booksie Classic
This is a contest entry for Nicole ! I had it finished before, then my computer froze ! So, I have to start over ! Any ways, here's a short summary.
Ronnie St.Patrick is 8 years old, with cancer and is super smart. She has maybe, a month to live, or less. Read my short, well kinda long short storry (: Thankss.

Submitted: April 28, 2011

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Submitted: April 28, 2011

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April 17

A month. That's 30 days, 720 hours,  43,200 minutes, and 2,592,00 seconds. Maybe less than that. That's how long I have left to live. Maybe. Unless, I kill myself. Which I thought of many, many, times. I'm Ronnie. Or, Veronica. Veronica (Ronnie) St. Patrick. And I'm eight years old, and I have cancer. I've had it since I was six years old. 

I walk down the bright hallways, of the hospital. My strawberry blonde hair, thinning, falls in my face. I let it fall even more, to shield my face. I feel exposed, and uncomfortable in my hospital gown.The smell of disinfectant, and sick fill my nostrils making me gag. I step aside, to let a team of paramedics push a stretcher down the hall way. My eyes linger on it, until they turn a corner. The woman looked at me, with pleading eyes. So much, blood. I start wondering the hallways again, then I hear my name being called.

"Veronica! Ronnie!" My brother, Julian, calls as he's running down the hallway to me. He finally gets to me, and pulls me into a hug. "I've got good news!" He says.

"What?" I ask.

"You get to come home," he says. I smile weakly, trying to show I'm glad. But I'm not. I hate being home. It will never be home. My parents are alcoholics, and drug addicts. Or, my dad is. My mom is a prostitute, to get money. She also works at some sort of office. And my dad works as a cab driver. They turned to alcohol, when the stress of our bills got to them.

^ ^ ^

I walk through our front door, of our small house. It smells like smoke, and whisky. "Where's mommy and daddy?" I ask.

"Um, dad's working, and mom's out." He says softly. When he says mom's out, that means she's prostituting. I sigh, and walk through the house. I haven't been home in a few months. I cough, until I feel like I'll cough up my lungs. Julian rushes over to me. "You okay Ronnie?" He asks. I weakly nod my head.

^  ^^

April 18

I wake up on our old dusty couch, to the sound of heels clicking against the wood floor. Mommy's home. I act like I'm still asleep, and she walks over to me. She puts her ear by my nose, to check to see if I'm still breathing. I hear her shuddering breaths, and her frantic sobs. She strokes my limp hair.

"Oh, my baby. My baby Ronnie," she says still crying. My heart cries for her.

"Mommy?" I ask still asleep.

She sniffs, "Yes baby?" she asks, trying to sound tough.

"Stop,"  I say. And her hand freezes over my hair, and she stops stroking it. "Stop your job."

She sighs. "Oh Ron, you know I can't."

I sit up on my elbows, not taking no for an answer. "You have to mommy! You can't live like this," I say. She nods her head. "Promise?"

"Promise," she says nodding her head again. I throw my pale, skinny, arms around her neck.

^ ^ ^

April 19

I wake up to the usual sounds of New York City. Cars beeping, birds chirping, and the shuffle of feet. That's when I realize my name's being called.

"Ron? Ronniee... Veronica?!" My dad worridly asks.

"Hmm?" I say sleepily.

"You're tests came back, you need to get some more," he says.

 "I don't want to.." I mumble.

"I know you don't Ron-" he's interupted by the sound of police sirens. He rushes out the door, with me following close behind.

Julian's being arrested. I run towards him, but strong arms hold me back. "What's going on?!" I try to yell, but it comes out as a strain, and my voice cracks, and I break out coughing.

"What's going on?" My dad repeats.

"You're son's being arrested  for theft of medicine," the head police officer says. I look over at Julian, and he shakes his head, angry with himself.

"She needed it!" He yells nodding towards me. I struggle again to get free, and I do. I run to Julian, and wrap my arms, around his skinny, muscular, body. I bury my head in his chest. "Back up," he whispers to me. "Go!" He whispers more fiercly. I do as he says, and he elbows one of the police holding him in his jaw, then he head butts the other. He's about ready to step on the guys head, when I hear the sound of gun fires. Then, everything goes in slow motion.

The bullet whizzing past my head, brushing my hair, and going into Julian's chest. Julian, falling on his back. Me running to him, and kneeling over his limp body. I put my ear by his nose, like my mom does. He's not breathing. The bullet hole starts to ooze blood. I cover my face with my hands, and burst into tears.

"What the hell! You KILLED my son!" My father roars at the police officer, who shot him.

"I did, what I had to do sir. He was hurting my men." It takes all my guts, to stand up, and stride over to him. I stand on my tiptoes, and peer into his black, cruel, eyes.

"Doesn't mean you kill, a kid." I growl. I decide to use a word, my parents told me to never say. "You bastard." Everyone gasps, at my language. I run back to Julian, and kneel down. I clasp my hands together, close my eyes, and pray to any God that's listening. "Dear God, if you can hear me. Bring Julian peace. And, my parents when I die. It's all I ask. I want them happy. Thank you, Amen," I say.

^ ^ ^

May 9

It's been two weeks, since I've been back at the hospital. And since Julian's been dead. Gone. A thought drifts into my mind, one that I've thought a million times. Suicide. Yes, I'm going to kill myself. It's better than going through all this testing, and examinations, and surgery. And all the chemicals. The IV's. And costing my parents thousands.  It makes me feel selfish. I want peace, and my parents can't live if I live. Even though the doctor says, I have maybe six months to live now. That's 273 days, 6, 552 hours, 393,120 minutes, and 23, 587,200 seconds of suffering.

I look out the window, and put my forehead against the glass. It's raining, and the drops run down the glass. I feel as if the world is crying with me, feeling my pain.

Tomorrow's my birthday. I'll be nine. And I'm getting myself a birthday present. Peace, death, no more doctors. Just me, Julian, and Heaven. If there is such a thing. I hang my head down, expecting hair to fall in my face, but it doesn't. I forgot, they shaved my head. There's a knock on the door, and a nurse comes in.

"Good morning, sweetie." She says. She's maybe, her mid-thirties, and her dark black hair is pulled up in a french twist, with a pen in the bun. She's wearing bright red lipstick. I shrug my shoulders. She takes a shot, and sticks it in my arm, and blood drains into the tube. I gag at the sight of the dark, thick blood. She leaves, and doesn't come back for the rest of the day.

I decide to go for a walk. Or, as much of a walk as a kid, with cancer, stuck in a hospital could. I wander down hallways, through lobbies. I run into someone, and apologize thousands of times. "Sorry," I mumble again. I look up, and see an older girl. Maybe Julian's age. Maybe a few years older.

"No, it's my fault. I'm Francesca." She says, shaking my hand. Her head is shaved too, and she has an animal print bandana on.

"Ronnie," I answer.

"I'm thirteen," she says. She raises a blonde eyebrow questionly at me.

"Nine," I say. I see an emotion flash across her face. Hurt? Sadness? Pity?

She nods her head, "Well, I gotta get back. Nice meeting you Ronnie, byee!" She says, waving to me as she walks down the hallway. I clutch my self tightly. She's the last person, who will say bye to me. Ever.

^ ^ ^

May 10

Today's the day. My birthday, and the day of ending my life, and giving me peace. I couldn't sleep last night, thinking of harmless ways to kill myself with out pain. The only thing I could come up with is pills, and I have some. When no one's looking, I take a hand full, and drink them one, by one before I can stop myself. I start to feel queasy, tired, and dizzy. I yawn. My eyes need rest, I'll close them. I fall asleep, but never wake up.

^ ^^

I stand there, over my dead body. I hear the heart machine going off, indicating I'm dead. Nurses rush in, and feel for a pulse. How stupid. The machine says it all. One of the nurses notices my pill container. She swears under her breath, knowing there's no way they can revive me.

Then I look at the doorway, and Francesca is standing there, leaning against the door frame. She's crying. I didn't know her, yet, I know I'll miss her. She's the only one who knew what I was going through. "Get out of the way please!" I hear my mother shout at Francesca, and my mom and dad, rush over to my dead body. My mom breaks down crying, and my dad holds her. He's crying too. I feel quilt, because they lost all they had left. Their last child. But I wanted this. It was my key to happiness.

All of a sudden, a bright light hurts my eyes. I look at everyone, rushing around. And my parents tangled in each other's arms, crying. No one else notices the light. I look at it, and I see Julian at the end of it. It looks like a tunnel, and at the end, there's Julian. And my grandmother, Pattie. I sniff, crying. Happy to see them.

I start walking through the tunnel, and look back behind me. My mom's head is buried in my neck, my body's neck, and she's sobbing. Sobbing more than I've ever seen her. My dad's punching the chair, and he's crying too. I shudder, and keep walking through.

^^ ^

After walking, for what seems like miles, I reach the inviting light. It's bright here, and I look down at what I'm wearing. I'm wearing a white gown, and my color is back to it's tan self, and my hair's back. As thick as it was when I was younger. "Welcome sis, I've been waiting for you," Julian says, smiling me. I sniff, and smile and throw my arms around his neck. I  next, hug my grandmother. Julian holds out his hand to me, and I take it, then grandma holds out hers, and I grab it.

"There's someone, we want you to meet," She says. And we walk through a golden gate, and I look at white, and people every where. I'm in Heaven. At peace.


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