Black Cord

A short little story about a young girl diagnosed with end stage melanoma, her fight to hold on to her hope, and to find her courage to let go and accept her fate.

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3. three. good girl gone bad.

A black cord.

A red cord.

Melanoma.

I never did anything wrong. Always wore suncreen, always ate semi-healthy, moisturized. I was a good kid and yet it's still my fault. It's still happening to me.

Black.

Red.

Melanoma.

I told my mom, finally. She took me to the doctor's that weekend. The doctor did a biopsy thing. I was admitted while we waited for results. Hospital Gown. Clothes gone. I shared my room with an older-ish woman, probably in her 30s or 40s. Named Victoria, stage four breast cancer. Terminal. Married with two kids. She looked tired.

Terminal.

Dying.

Unsalvageable.

Black.

Red.

Melanoma.

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