I jumped. The ground rushed towards me. I strained to open my eyes as wide as possible trying to capture the entire view. I’d never felt so alive which under the circumstances I suppose was ironic. As I fell further my mind started clearing. Then came the memories...
Sitting in the waiting room with my parents was excruciating. At first my Dad had tried to crack some of his appalling fatherly jokes he soon gave up. So I sat there sandwiched between them in a deafening silence. I trained my eyes forward at the white wash walls. The lack of colour and decoration in the room made it look sickly under the fluorescent lighting. How long had we been here? Hours? Days? Yet as the nurse signalled it was my turn I knew I wasn’t ready. I wasn’t sure if I would ever be ready.
My Mother ushered me forward. Slowly I trudged onwards. My legs had turned to lead weights by the time I reached the door. My breaths became shallow as I looked forward. The door was made of cold metal. A solitary three stood in it’s centre. As I stared closer the three began to grow. I noticed the flakes of white paint that had peeled away at the edges and fallen to the stony floor. Even with it’s imperfections it intimidated me. It stood boldly. Daring me to open it. I shrugged back from it’s daunting glare. My Mother pushed in front of me and opened the door with a shaking hand.
As soon as the word left the Doctor’s mouth I heard my Mother whimper. She shoved a fist to her mouth and with her spare hand she fiercely gripped my wrist. But I couldn’t feel a thing. Still I humoured her attempt to console me. My Father had more hope.
“What can we do?” He asked, though it came out strangled so sounded more of a plea. I could tell her reply just from the expression on her face. She told us that
there was no cure and she would start me on an immediate course of chemotherapy. My face blushed with embarrassment as my Mother openly wept. The blush turned to a shamed crimson as I saw my Father’s tear stained cheeks. Even in this room filled with people I had never felt so alone. The doctor had written me off and my parents were sat beside me already grieving over me. I felt as if the last nail had just been hammered into my coffin.
My fall seemed to pick up speed the breeze I had felt before my jump had now turned to an uncomfortable wind. It whipped at my body from the side making me sway
dangerously. The cool air rushed across my face. How I longed to still have my
hair. To let it dance in the wind and ripple against my now shaven head. But my
auburn locks were now gone.
The Jump
by Katy Curry