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A jolt went through my stomach and cut off the power to my once pleasant dream. Another jolt up my spin and my eyes shot open instinctively. My sheets, my boxers, and my body were all completely drenched in sweat and tears. But this wasn't an abnormal awakening; it'd been almost a year since this hadn't been the way things were. At least I hadn't been brought into consciousness by the sounds of my own horrific screams, like so many mornings before. It's hard not to feel guilty when all of your sleep-deprived friends have to then lose even more sleep over your nightmares.

I knew I'd never get anymore rest for the time being, so I pulled myself up and out of my damp sheets and changed into a dry pair of boxers and a wifebeater. The mirror above my dresser showed me a sickly pale and unnaturally skinny refection when I looked into it. It was true that my body had slowed its production of insulin, so no matter what I ate, the weight dropped off rapidly.

When I rubbed at the trail of drool I had running down my chin, I noticed something in the corners of my mouth - dark red, almost brown. Then I glanced back at my pillow and saw a spot the same color. Blood. That was definitely something I'd never woken up to before. I decided a quick trip to the bathroom to relieve myself and cleanse my face was in order.

The calendar Benji hung up on the inside of the bathroom door caught my eye as I closed the wooden barrier. Each day that passed was marked through with a large red X - Benji's doing. He liked to count them, thinking it would somehow slow the process of my demise; I knew other wise. It was March 10, and nothing could change that. Tomorrow would be my 25th birthday. The feeling in the deep dwellings of my heart told me today was the day.

I finished my business quickly after this painful realization, then made my way down the hall the kitchen where Benji usually resided this time of day. Sure enough, there he was, all alone, sipping some steaming liquid out of a plain white mug and browsing through the newspaper. He could have passed for a sitcom dad if his Spiderman boxers were replaced with a suit, if he was reading the business section instead of the comics, and if his cup was full of espresso as opposed to hot chocolate with marshmallows. God, I loved him... knowing he wasn't going to constantly be by my side anymore was frightening, and a thin wisp of tears sprung into my eyes.

He didn't acknowledge me as I walked into the room and took a seat across from him at the table, I guess over the past few months I'd become naturally quite - when I spoke and when I moved. I could successfully make it as a Russian spy with the ability I had to make people unaware of my presence.

"Benji -" My voice cracked after I said his name, but it was enough for him to see he was not the only person in here anymore. He gave me a sad sympathetic smile, the same smile I'd received from anyone who knew, numerous times. The same smile that wasn't even a smile anymore, because a smile should make you feel good, and this only made me what to server someone's main vein with a chainsaw till they screamed out in pain - which actually probably wouldn't take very long, now would it?

"Hey Joel, how's it going?" he asked gently, placing his reading materials down so he could focus on me.

I held my finger up to motion him to wait a second as I felt a coughing fit coming on. I covered my mouth with my hands and in a matter of moments I was hacking so hard my lungs felt about ready to rip up out through my throat. Benji's eyes widened in horror as he took in the blood seeping through my fingers. I noticed this too, once the coughing had subsided and I removed my hands; red liquid had puddled in them.

"Not too good Benj," I answered quietly and hoarse. His gaze was fixated on my hands, never moving, but I could see his eyes glaze over as I spoke. His intense stare bore into me and my entire body slowly began to shake. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't steady my fingers as I held them in front of my face and watched the blood drip off the tips, drop by drop landing on my barely covered thigh.

Something heavy came in contact with the solid wood of the tabletop, causing me to tear away and look up. Benji had slammed his hands down with full force to push himself up and out of his seat. Within literal seconds he made it down the hall, into the bathroom, and back, his arms full of bottles, each one looking virtually the same. "Which one is it?" he breathed.

I motioned towards the orange bottle barely in the grasp of his right hand; he nodded and dropped the others to the floor so he could concentrate on the one I had indicated. He fetched a glass filled with cool water from the tap and popped off the white top of the cylinder that held only four black and yellow pills. Two of them I was instructed to gulp down with the drink, and so with two I did.

Benji's look of concern didn't fade as he stood beside me with his arms cross over his chest, watching my every move to make sure the medicine was fully down my throat with no intention of coming back up. When I was first prescribed these I'll admit, I had a habit of refusing to take them, but those days have long since passed. I guess he's just trying to fit into the older, protective brother role he's been expected to take on lately.

I didn't know how I was going to break it to him, or if he'd even take me seriously if I attempted to. I had this gut feeling that I couldn't explain, maybe he's feeling it too, maybe he'd be able to understand this. If anyone could, it'd be him anyway. "Today's it," I said.

The look on his face went from one of concern, to determination. "No it's not Joel, don't talk like that," he scolded. It was all in the script - which is what he, had practiced saying. When you inform your brother that the clock on your life is finally up, he's going to shake his head and debate with you. It'd be down right mean to nod sadly and agree, "yeah Joel, you're right, you're gonna die. Sucks don't it?" No one was that cruel.

Uncontrollable anger suddenly burst forth as I stood from my chair and shoved Benji with all my might. I could see him wince in pain, his lower back ramming full force into the corner of the marble counter. "Stop fucking ignoring it!" I screamed. I was on the edge of a cliff, one more step and I'd find myself lying in a pool of guilt and misery. I didn't want it to be this way, I wanted my last hours to be spent laughing and reminiscing with my brother... my friends, not trying to inflict upon them what I was feeling surge through my own veins. "Go get your damn dog, his barking is giving me a headache," I ordered. He was confused; I could feel it as well as see it in his eyes as his mouth tried to speak inaudible words of sadness.

My head began to spin rapidly, making my journey back to my bedroom that much harder. I grabbed a pair of black dickies off the floor and threw on a plain back shirt, my MADE hoodie, and my converse all-stars that I hadn't worn in forever. Everything's an impossible task when your body is riddled with sickness; even something as simple as getting myself dressed needed to be taken in stages with a rest period in-between each one. I laid my palm against the wall, and rested my head against the back of my hand with my other one casually gripping my side. Cash's barking had faded out once he had been let inside, but my head was still pounding.

If anything would help, it definitely wouldn't be being cooped up in a stuffy house with a twin brother that couldn't even look at you right. For some reason I got the sudden urge to get outside and go to the park... there was a park just down the street. I used to go there every once and a while, but the house had recently become my sanctuary. It was time to get out again.

Cash's leash was in the junk draw of the kitchen, so once again I found myself in the 'dreaded' room. It wasn't 'dreaded' until after this morning's events. I didn't exactly want to be there for longer than I needed to be. I grabbed the long leather rope and brushed my hand against the jagged corner of the counter while doing so, Benji was going to have a welt on his back tomorrow and it was going to be my fault.

Cash somehow sensed the leash in my hand and galloped in from the living room where he was probably pretending to watch TV at Benji's feet. Damn, he was practically a horse now; it seems like only yesterday that he was just a little puppy permanently attached to Benji's heel.

I fastened the clip around the hook on his collar and tugged a little to get him going. Getting the hint, he pulled me towards the front door with his unimaginable strength, which caused me to stumble over my own feet during the first few steps. As I suspected, Benji's sleeping form laid sprawled over the couch, the TV blaring 7th Heaven, and the remote dangling loosely in his hand as he slept. What really stopped me about the scene was the ice pack that had settled itself on the warm skin of his back, no doubt to help the injury I bestowed upon him earlier.

You're terrible, all he was trying to do was help you, give you some hope, I told myself over and over again as I walked down the cracked sidewalk towards Lincoln Memorial Park. My eyes were focused on my feet and each tiny weed popping up through the areas where the concrete had split at through the years. These plants had made it, where no one thought something would be able to grow; they had survived, just like I had. But eventually a jogger too busy to stop and take a look around would carelessly step them on, end their life. To me, God was a jogger, and his foot was hovering just above my head.

Gates surrounded the grassy area littered with trees, ponds, benches, paths, and a small jungle gym for the younger folk known as Lincoln Memorial Park. It held no incredibly deep memories for me personally - I hadn't grown up visiting here on the weekends with my parents and siblings, but somehow it still put me at ease, plus, Cash loved the attention he received when he'd trot over to the sandbox filled with children.

I sat on one of the many wodden benches located around the park. A small duck pond stood a few feet away in front of me, and the playground behind. It was a different feeling, being out and about among nature, it had the ability to lift whatever weight you had off your shoulders, cleanse you, and make you feel refreshed all within five minutes of it's presence.

* Flashback *

The physical feeling of steal against my thinly clad body, the mental unstableness of the situation, the emotional anxiety of the uncertainty that each passing minute bought. I rarely ever bite my nails, I never picked it up as a nervous habit like so many others I know; I was biting my nails then. My right hand was curled up against my face allowing my teeth to chomp again my fingers, my left hand drummed against the cool examination table. It was my pathetic attempt to pass the time. Pathetic because it in no way helped.

Mom had seated herself in an orange plastic chair across from me; most likely just as uncomfortable as the slab of metal they had me perched on. She kept reassuring me although inside I knew she felt all the worry and doubts I myself did. She wasn't ready to lose her youngest son. It's the children's job to bury the parent; the parent should never have to bury the child.

Benji was around somewhere, or he had been at some point. His stomach was growling so he had set off in search for the cafeteria about an hour pervious and he was yet to come back. I told him that it was my belief that the cafeteria was located in the basement, even though I knew it was really on the third floor, all the way at the end of the left hall. Who knows how long it'd take him to figure out I'd given him directions to the nursery. It was cruel, I know, to trick my starving brother, but I wanted to buy myself some time, I didn't want him in the room when the doctor came back. I desperately searched for excuses to make mom leave as well, but she was a little more stubborn than Benji, and she stayed put.

"Mr. Madden I presume?" asked a middle-aged man as he entered the room. I easily identified him as a doctor by the green scrubs he was wearing, the stethoscope around his neck, and the nametag that read 'Dr. Astry' didn't exactly hurt either. In his hands was a clipboard stacked full of various forms and papers; I wondered how many of those concerned me?

"That'd be me," I offered him politely. That was the first time I saw the sympathy smile. At that precise moment I didn't know how much it would affect my future, but I knew it wasn't what I wanted to be seeing. He flipped through a few pages of his clipboard and scribbled something on a sheet with a red pen he had had stuck between his ear and head. It was then that I figured it out, I knew everything wasn't all right... he was stalling, he wasn't telling me right off the bat, "congratulations Joel, everything's back from the lab now and it all came back negative, it looks like you're going to be perfectly fine after-all."

"Mr. Madden," he started again, taking his respective seat on the stool next to my feet. "There's really no easy way to tell you this..."

Fuck! I screamed in my head. No, no, no, it is easy, just tell me I'm fine and let me leave! Mom made a small gasping noise but quickly covered her mouth with her hands in order to act like it hadn't happened. It had happened, and inside I was gasping too.

"It's cancer Mr. Madden. The Biopsy showed extreme damage to both lungs, as well as a dangerously large tumor present in your right one. If we had detected this earlier we might have had a better chance at containing it, but as of now, I'm not sure how able we'd be to do that. Of course I could suggest chemotherapy, but in my professional opinion, it'd be a worthless process to break down and weaken your body without giving any real results. We do have a nice hospice program available though, if that suits you more." That really lays it all out on the table. It's out in the open now, he told me, he told my mom. I had been smacked in the face by reality and had received a swift kick to the nuts by modern medicine to go along with it.

Mom broke down. All her faith in God and his decisions could not ease the sorrow escaping through her eyes. Black tears cascaded down her cheeks to their instant dome on her white skirt, black because of the heavy eyeliner she had worn on a dare with Benji. I wanted so much to wrap my arms around her and whisper in her ear not to cry like she had done so many times to me as a child, but I was frozen and couldn't move.

"If I chose not to go through the chemo... how long would I have?" I said cautiously. It was a natural reflex to ask I suppose. My eyes were blank and the words sure as hell weren't going through my head before coming out of my mouth.

"Hard to tell exactly. Death in this situation can be very sudden, or fairly long and grueling. At the stage of your cancer I'd guess... six months maybe. Nine at most. For certain though, you will not live to see your 25th birthday." Knifes, daggers, various sharp things, stabbing me all over my body. No physical pain, but knowing I'd leave this world without accomplishing all my dreams paralyzed my soul for good.

Just then, Benji entered the room, spooning butterscotch pudding out of a small plastic cup. "So what'd I miss?"

* End Flashback *

My cell phone going off in my pocket reminded me that I was no longer in the hospital, I was at a park, a wide-open space meant for peace and quiet. But despite what people may say, it's quite hard to ignore "In Da Club" blaring out of your pants. A certain name flashed over and over again on my display screen until I pressed 'talk' and brought it to my ear. "Hello?"

"Uh... hey Joel. Where are ya man?" Benji asked uncertainly.

"I'm at the park," I replied in a bland voice. He asked, I answered - no need for details. My attention was more on the scene before my eyes than the voice in my ear; ducks were gathering by the muddy pond's edge as a small girl with blonde pigtails tore off pieces of bread and tossed them into the water. She had such a radiant smile, not bothered by grim collecting on her once white tennis shoes. So young and naïve, she didn't have a care in the world yet. Ah, what it was like to be that age again, where a loving family sheltered all the bad in the world out.

"Are you... going to come home anytime soon?" he inquired again, with a soft hint to his voice. He was always walking on eggshells around me; that was something I wouldn't miss.

"Of course Benj, I'll be back in a little while, I just have to take care of something before I do." Without giving him the time to counter back with another pointless question, I ended the connection between him and I and punched in the numbers of someone I really felt a conversation was needed with.

After the fifth unsuccessfully answered ring the answering machine picked up automatically playing a recorded message: "You've reached the residence of Robin Madden, I unfortunately can't come to the phone right now, but leave your name and number and I'll get back to you as soon as I can, thanks!" It was so basic, but it was still soothing, just the sound of my mother's voice... if only I could speak with her and not a piece of machinery who's purpose was to inform her who had called while she was out. She wouldn't carry a cell phone for reasons unknown to me, so this would have to do.

"Hey mom, it's me... Joel, I'm just calling to tell you that I don't think I'll be here to see you when you visit us on Sunday. As much as I want to, it's not going to work out I'm afraid. Always remember that I love you, and please... don't cry," I spoke the last two words barely above a whisper, knowing they needed to be said, yet fearing them as if they'd be poison on my lips.

I held on the line until the beep sounded and I was forced to hang up. I shoved the phone back into my pocket and in the process removed a folded up piece of paper and pencil I had stored in there as well. It was a half written letter to the person who's machine I'd just hung up with - my mother. I'd started it that day we came home from the hospital, basically it was my goodbye to her, something meant to put us both at ease about my passing. My therapist had suggested it a few weeks ago. I was one step ahead of him I guess.

Reading over what was already scrawled across in my barely legible chicken scratch called handwriting; I added only a few more lines before I dubbed it finished. It didn't turn out extensively long as one might expect a son's last parting words to be; maybe it would have been longer if I felt I had the time.

Mom,

I know I've told you a million times how much you mean to me, and I know I've told you a million more that I'll never be able to fully express it to the extend where you could even begin to imagine. That still stands. As children we are expected to disobey our parents, take them for granted, but I'm not a child anymore, and death has only helped to clarify it. Now I can fully understand your reasons for yelling at me when I shoved a sandwich in the VCR or poured my milk down Benji's shorts. Early curfews and punishment when I blew them off don't seem quite so trivial anymore. Everything you've done for me in the past twenty-five years hasn't gone unnoticed. You've helped me grow into the boy I was yesterday and the man I am today. When my entire life felt like train wreck, you were one of the few things that held steady and helped me through it all. For this, I'm eternally grateful. I lived a good life, and it's finally time for it to end, as all good things eventually do. Remember that I'm going to a better placed where there is no pain or sadness - rejoice, don't grieve. I'll always love you, and I always miss you... forever.

Love,
Joel R. Madden

I folded it back up and returned the tattered no