Chapter 1: The Last Breath of Earth
The hospital room was quiet except for the steady beep of the heart monitor, like a metronome counting down the final moments. Pale sunlight filtered weakly through the blinds, casting striped shadows across the sterile walls.
Seventeen years. That was all the time I had. Not long, but long enough to matter—or at least, that's what I hoped.
I lay there, barely able to move, the tubes and wires connected to me feeling like chains I couldn't break. The disease had slowly taken over my body, but not my mind. I could still think, remember, feel.
Mom was sitting beside me, clutching my hand so tightly her knuckles went white. She hadn't left my side in days. Her eyes were swollen and red, but she forced a smile whenever I looked at her.
Dad was leaning against the wall by the door, arms crossed, jaw tight. He never cried in front of us, but the lines on his face said everything.
My little sister, Emma, hugged her stuffed rabbit in the corner. She was trying to be brave but her sniffles gave her away.
Grandma, the family's quiet strength, was just outside talking with the nurse. I caught her gaze and saw tears threatening to spill.
I wanted to say something—anything—to ease their pain.
"Mom…" My voice was weak, but I needed to hear her.
She looked at me and smiled through her tears. "Hey, sweetheart. Don't try to talk. Just rest now."
I took a shallow breath and tried again, "I'm sorry… I'm sorry I've been such a burden."
Dad stepped closer, voice gruff but full of love. "You're not a burden. You never were. You're our son."
Mom shook her head. "No one's ever a burden when they're family."
I squeezed her hand weakly. "I wish I could've done more. I wanted to help more people. I wanted to be stronger."
"You already helped more than you know," Grandma said softly as she entered the room and took my other hand. "Remember Mrs. Jenkins? You helped her carry groceries every week, even when you were tired."
I smiled faintly, remembering the old lady's surprised smile every time I showed up.
"And the tutoring you did for those kids after school," Mom added. "You never asked for anything in return."
Dad's eyes softened. "You taught more than just math, kid. You taught kindness."
I looked around the room at their faces, soaked in love and sadness, and my heart ached.
"I never had a girlfriend," I confessed quietly. "Never kissed anyone. I guess… I was just too scared to let anyone get close."
Emma shuffled forward suddenly, clutching her rabbit tightly. "You're the best brother, you know that? I love you."
Her words hit me harder than I expected. "I love you too, Emma."
The room fell silent except for the slow beep of the monitor and the faint sound of my uneven breathing.
"Do you think I mattered?" I asked, more to myself than anyone.
Grandma squeezed my hand. "You mattered more than you realize. Sometimes the quietest people leave the biggest marks."
Mom wiped her tears away. "We're proud of you. You made this world better just by being in it."
I wanted to believe her, but doubt crept in. I wasn't special. I was just… me.
"I'm scared," I admitted in a whisper.
Dad sat on the edge of the bed, his voice steady but gentle. "It's okay to be scared. We all are. But you're not alone."
I closed my eyes, holding their hands tight. I thought of the laughter with my friends, the small victories, the kindness I tried to spread quietly.
I thought of the day I stood up to the bullies in school, even though it scared me. The times I stayed late helping at the shelter instead of hanging out. The smiles I got when I helped someone without expecting anything back.
Maybe that was enough.
As my breath grew shallow and the beeping slowed, I whispered one last time.
"Thank you… for everything."
Their tears fell freely now, mixing with soft promises to never forget me.
And then, silence.
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