| ... all I wanted for Christmas was to Die by Myth Spinner |
| Outside fluffy flakes of snow tumbled lightly to the ground. The white blanket it laid was pure and untouched. A wave of lights reflects upon the fresh virgin snow. A rainbow of orange, green, red, and blue. Gold and silver garland snake up light poles. Decorative candy canes hang stretched across a quiet street in rows of red and white. The snow, it continues to fall, floating delicately among the lights and decorations, and the sounds of Christmas songs can be heard faintly amidst the glory. * * * Zak Tran sat up in bed in a cold sweat. The pain in his abdomen was unbearable. He held his breath as the sharpness increased. It was a twisting pain, the kind that gnaws on you as if you are being eaten alive. Zak crawled out of bed, stopped to double over before making his way to the bathroom as quickly as he could. By the time he reached the toilet, he had vomit trickling from between his lips, with some finding its way onto his nightshirt. He hung over the toilet for several minutes, making sure his stomach was empty before he would rinse his mouth to extinguish the taste. Grabbing the half-full bottle of mouthwash, he stopped to examine himself. Blood-shot eyes, dark bags hanging beneath them. He was unattractive in his opinion already; the added baggage only made him homelier. He smiled - his teeth bore specks of vomit that had clung to the enamel. He frowned and took a mouth full of mouthwash - before reaching his toothbrush he noticed the string of puke that soiled his coffin-blue shirt. His frown grew deeper as he brushed his teeth and changed out of his nightshirt. He stared again at his sunken face, hollowed eyes staring back at him. He couldn't remember the last time he felt good, or the last time he was happy. This was his gift two Christmases ago, his diagnosis of cancer. It wasn't until it was in stage four before they discovered it. A little known cancer of the T-Cells. He didn't concern himself with the specifics, only that he was given a few months to live. That was two years ago. Zak made his way back to his bed, in slow arduous steps. Plopped down on his bed, not bothering to right himself or making himself comfortable. There was no need, he wasn't going to sleep again that night. * * * Zak watched Dr. Gibbons with a doubtful eye. "Looks like you're gonna kick out another Christmas, Mr. Tran." Zak ignored the doctor and finished buttoning his shirt. Another Christmas to celebrate my pain, Zak thought as he twisted the last button into place. He grimaced - be it ever so slightly, it was enough to draw the good doctor's attention. "Are your hands giving you discomfort?" Zak sighed as he sat. Always the same bullshit, "Does this hurt, or that. Tell me about the pain you're feeling." But they never yielded him any relief. "Yeah doc, but nothing like the pain in my abdomen." He replied. Dr. Gibbons gave a thoughtful nod. The same he did every visit. Zak looked off to keep himself from getting angry. "You know," Dr. Gibbons began, "I can't give you anything for the pain in your abdomen. I can give you a prescription for an anti-inflammatory that might help your hands." Zak watched the smile on the doctor's face spread again. It was like a viral infection moving rapidly across his vapid face. His nose crinkled and his eyes drew in tight. "You know they upset my stomach, just like the pain meds." He smirked as Dr. Gibbons stopped his scribbling and looked off as if in thought. "That's right," he said in a disappointed fashion. Zak grabbed his coat and reached for the door when Dr. Gibbons repeated his original observation. "Looks like you're gonna kick out another Christmas, Mr. Tran." How un-doctor like, Zak thought as he turned to give Dr. Gibbons a flash of a grin. |
 |