The Wasted Days.

The same colors blurred my vision. It seemed as if I had lost the signal on a TV, or whatever makes those hideous colors appear in blocks on the screen, accompanied by the loud and irritating beep.

I wanted to scream in frustration and hurt as the colors blurred. Again.

The racing ants came back, dragging their white noise across my mental screen.

I wanted to scream, ‘What is this supposed to mean?!’ but it was like my mouth was sewn shut. I felt my numb, parted lips.

The black and grey specks disappeared, leaving me with the deafeningly silent white again.

Shapes slowly became defined. It hurt my eyes, as I strained them, unable to move. I couldn’t tell where this was. It was slowly beginning to look like someone had taken a picture with that mode, where it made everything looked like a drawing; a sketch. Dark lines only shadowed the objects in my vision, making them pop out and making my head hurt.

That was definitely a TV hung on the wall, and a table with two chairs in the corner. There was a bed, with something, or someone, on it. The tall, slender stand next to it. A door, half open.

This was a room.

This is a room.

A still-life of a room.

Things started to make sense as I pieced the puzzle together. This could be anywhere.

Images started to blearily appear on the screen of the TV. A news reporter? Something about her stance screamed ‘bad news’. The headlines running the bottom of the screen told me something else. I could feel the anchors voice as she informed me of some person. Was it a disease?

I shifted my attention. If it was sad, then I didn’t want to hear anymore.

The only awkward piece of the puzzle left was the stand. The stick right next to the bed. I averted my attention back to that.

The room slowly became even more definitive. The stand became thinner, a pole, with little wires coming from it. Cords, maybe.

I squinted my eyes, still numb. My body was asleep I felt like I was laying on pins and needles. It made me ache.

A hospital room?

Is that what that is?

Is that what it’s always been?

Shocked, I moved backwards, and to my surprise I suddenly began to tumble. My legs gave way beneath me. I was falling and the white was slowly fading into a black. A dark abyss that I was falling into with a faded light at the end. I stretched my arms out, looking for a wall; looking for anything that could slow my fall. I wanted to stop falling.

I screamed at myself that this was just a dream.

That I was only dreaming, and therefore, I could control it.

I told myself to wake up.

And then I hit the bottom and my eyes flew open.

The room from the dream was mirrored before my eyes in color.

Dull blues and creams filled my vision. The pale blue sheets covering my gown clad body to my elbows, as I was sitting up slightly, and the bland off-white walls. A black TV, with a screen just as blank, and a nautical themed table set. The two chairs were pulled out slightly, the gross shade of blue of the cushions screamed that too many people had sat on them. I pleaded with them, silently asking with my eyes. I wanted to know all of the sad, broken-hearted people they had served. All of the bad things that had happened in this room.

Then I really realized that I was in the bed.

It felt like a death omen.

And then again, of course it was.

The door creaked open and someone entered as quietly as was possible when using an old door. My dad could fix that up in a matter of minutes. My eyes trailed from the chair to the person standing in the doorway.

The clean and blindingly white lab coat first reminded me of my dream, then of all of those scientists, and then, finally, of a doctor. Of course it had to be the doctor, though.

Suddenly I wished I was back in the deafening dream.

“Miss Harker?” He asked quietly, gently as if not to break my already fragile ears. I nodded silently, afraid to open my mouth. “I wasn’t sure if you were awake.” He smiled half-heartedly at me.

Suspicion started to rise. Doctors shouldn’t be this nice unless you have something serious. I felt myself begin to shake.

He had unknowingly already told me that I was dead meat.

He sat softly down next to me in that chair with the ugly blue cushion. I had never liked these touchy-feely moments much. I felt like I was on one of those dramatic hospital shows that television companies spend too much time on. Suddenly I’m reminded of scenes where they lose people; the depressing ones where people always seem to die. I’m reminded of the times when the doctors are forced to tell their unsuspecting victim the bad news. That what you have, it will kill you, and, no, it cannot be cured.

Tears welled in my eyes.

Maybe I should stop thinking all together.

He opened his mouth and I steadied myself for the blow. “I’m sorry to tell you,” he trailed off. What could be so bad that he couldn’t just say it? I really wished that he would just say it.

Maybe he could say it quick enough so it’s like a band-aid and I’ll only be left with a slight sting. Maybe it was really, actually, good news, and he just doesn’t know how to word it correctly.

I had to tell myself to shut up again.

“Salem, you have a cancer. It’s called acute lymphocytic leukemia and,” He took a deep breath to calm himself. Maybe he was new, or maybe he wasn’t used to breaking news like this to someone so young. He slowly began again, “and what it does is it effects your blood cells…” I cut him off as he struggled to explain it without using medical jargon that I wouldn’t understand.

“It’s okay. I know what it is. I’m actually, kind of, good in science.” I smiled at him. He let out a sigh. “Did you already tell my parents?” I asked hesitantly.

He gave me a side-long glance and I already knew the answer. That didn’t keep him from vocalizing it though, “No, not yet.”

I nodded to myself.

“Who’s going to tell them, here?” I asked. His eyes squinted shut, he was obviously bemused by my attitude towards this.

I was just taking it in on the outside.

But my head was screaming on the inside.