Like Clockwork

Just something I wrote a long time ago. I found it recently and decided to put it up. Disease will probably affect most of us and sooner or later we all know someone who has died or is dying. This story is dedicated to someone special. x


1. I Never Really Believed in Heaven.

I never really believed in heaven. I always thought it was one of those silly stories parents tell their children like ‘Santa’ or ‘the tooth fairy’, but now as it was coming closer and closer to the date everyone feared and dreaded I was wishing with all my might heaven was real.


If you could write a list of things a normal fifteen year old girl would think about it would read;   

1. Boys

2. Make up

3. Boys

4. Spots

5. Boys

6. Do I look fat in this?

The list could go on forever, the things I thought about varied a little.

Will it be painful? How much can I eat today without getting sick? Will boys still like me?  

Will I ever get to go on a first date? Will I be here tomorrow?

I thought different things to all my friends. They had no idea what life was like for me, they just gave me sympathetic looks and moved on; lucky them. They could move on, but I couldn’t. I had to stay trapped with this forever, well almost ever.


A will is a difficult thing to write. My family didn’t know I was writing one. I wanted to leave them a little reminder of me when I wasn’t here. It was extremely hard and I had to lie down for a bit as thinking about it and pacing had taken a lot of my energy. That was another thing I didn’t have a lot of. My energy was always being drained from me, even going up and down the school stairs left me panting slightly. Sport was one of the many things I missed. I used to love the feeling before a match, the mix of fear and excitement. Now I just feared I would break down during the stretches. The excitement was drained from the game as I was forced to watch bitterly from the sidelines with cold hands as the opposition scored their sixth goal.

I was never bullied in school because of my condition, I just had people staring at me and whispering my story. It wasn’t just the students though. The teachers did their fair share of whispering too. I felt like shouting out that I could see them talking about me and that I had feelings too.


There is a little thing that I like to call ‘Keeping up Appearances’. When I was feeling particularly low I just plastered a fake smile on and pretended everything was fine.

This was particularly hard around home. You would swear they were the ones with the disease, not me. You couldn’t walk into a room without someone smiling at you asking were you alright and did you need anything but secretly they were crying when I wasn’t there. There is one thing you must learn though. With disease come tears, and a lot of them. Everyone cried all the time. That is, everyone except me. I was coping my own way and everyone has their own way of coping.

The one person who’s company I cherished twenty four hours a day was Charlie’s.

He was my pet hamster. You couldn’t tell if he was happy or sad. He slept, ate, and pooped all day. This was why I loved his company. Don’t get me wrong, I love my family. Sometimes though it’s just good to get away from the pain and find your happy place. Mine just happened to be in my room with Charlie.


I didn’t own a lot. I had my stereo, my phone, lava lamp, bed, clothes that were getting bigger by the day (or I was getting smaller) and Charlie. I’m sure I had lots more but these was my favourite things.

I had two hundred in my savings box and three hundred in various accounts. It wasn’t a lot but I wasn’t going to need it. My older brother had done a lot for me and sacrificed a lot for me.

He had a rugby final once and if he played well he could have got a university scholarship, but I was sick the same day and he stayed by my side in hospital the whole time. He was the one who bought me the lava lamp. I loved this present so much, it was red and he decorated the casing with tiny stars and moons. It must have taken him ages to paint.

That was why it was one of my prized possessions.

I wasn’t very creative and was terrible at art myself. My brother always said my mind worked in a way others didn’t, he meant it as a compliment. As if everyone’s brain worked like clockwork, it kept going forward, but mine went backward. I thought it was very nice of him to say this. Whatever it meant.


A will is not something a fifteen year old should have to deal with, nor something I wanted to deal with. I didn’t like to think about it to much. I understand why I am dying. These are the cards I was dealt with. I can’t go back. The game is still going; I just have to make the most out of what I’ve got.

In the end the will was not hard at all, in fact it was staring me in the face the whole time.


I just wrote a story, my story.

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