One More Night

I watch her shaking hands clutching the the plastic, bedside wastebasket. Her burgundy hair is sticking up in tufts, where there is any hair at all. Her skin is nearly transparent now. She looks at me, and I can see it in her eyes that she doesn't want me to see this.

I turn away, and the groans escaping her invisible lips are enough to make me wish we could trade places. She'd been sick as a child, while I played softball in the streets with my friends. She was choking back blood, and shaving her head weekly, while I took my pony-tail, and bought her new scarves to hide the bare skin of her scalp. I would give up my life so she could have one to live. One that didn't include hospitals, and feeling every part of her body die off.

I watch her tiny frame make its way to the restroom, and listen as she coughs, turning on the sink. I hear the water hitting the towel, and the wet fabric against her feverish skin. By now, if the cancer itself wasn't bringing her seconds closer to death, the chemicals racing through her body, slaying whatever chance her cells had.

I sit with her in a new room every few months. One hospital gives up, while another picks up the gauntlet only to drop it when the remission ends. My sister slides back into the bed with stiff sheets, and reaches for my hand.

Her hands are cold, radiating ice through mine, until it reaches my heart. I didn't have enough energy to cry, but the tears come. They haven't let me down while I spend each day, watching my sister die.

"Kirsten," she says, though her words are almost gone. I close my eyes, picturing her the way I want to remember her.

Hair to her waist, a gleam in her hazel eyes. She wears a size three jeans, and her skin is tan. She has no scars from surgery, and the gaunt expression I'd seen was replaced by a smile, full of straight, white teeth.

When I open my eyes again, I see her fading.

"I spent eleven years praying," she whispered, "For one more night on Earth."

I feel her weak grip on my fingers go limp. I kiss her forehead, and wonder if the fever will fade.

Her prayer was answered for four thousand, two hundred and fifteen nights.

I can't help but wish for one more...