Fifty-Two

The worst sound in the world was probably the noise that came from my body when it rejected food. My body did that often lately. Nothing seemed to satisfy it. But it would go away and I’d have a few weeks of carefree wishing.

I’d go out with my friends, try to check off something from my mental bucket list. I had eighty-six things listed, not a single one checked off. I wasn’t sure how long I’d have to complete it, but I knew number eighty-six would be the last thing I ever did. Die on my own terms.

I didn’t really want the list written, it was easy to memorize. I didn’t want someone finding it, questioning why I wanted to sleep in a tree, number four or get a stupid tattoo, seventy-two. I just wanted to do it, why question it?

I would probably never get the chance to dance in a music video or stand above the Titanic. I could wish all I wanted, but any day now, I could lose all the strength in my body, making it impossible to even feed myself.

But my entire adventured started the day I checked off my first number. Fifty-two.