I don’t want to die here.

Though there isn’t much of a choice, is there? For the past three months out of my twenty-six years of life, this has been my home: the room with the high ceiling, so white and clean.

When I was younger, I dreamed of travelling the world when I retired after a long life of working hard at a good job that paid me handsomely. I convinced myself I’d save up all of the money I could in order to do so.

The days were long and dull. I passed the time sitting up in this bed I called my own for now, letting my face bathe in the sunlight filtering though the slightly open window, letting myself submerge into my own imagination and escape from this hospice reality.

There wasn’t really much else to do.

Sometimes I would go to France. I’d get irritated about the amount of time I have to wait in line to experience the view from the Eiffel tower. When my turn finally came, I’d shake in fear and excitement for I had never experienced heights such as these.

Then, I’d watch the city light up in Rio de Janeiro at night, and during the day I’d visit all of the beaches. I’ve been everywhere you could possibly think of. Twice.

But when I open my eyes, nothing really seems to change during these endless days apart from the occasional visitor, or the ever changing position of the drifting clouds, and the hands of the cheap plastic clock on the wall.

It’s a bittersweet metaphor, is it not? It’s not so terrifying after a while to think that each second that passes is one second closer until that clock finally stops for unfortunate me.

I huddled myself deeper into my sheets and closed my eyes in hope of sleep, just to pass the time. I didn’t want to keep thinking about death and whatnot. There was no use getting upset, after all you can’t change your fate. No matter how ill-fated you may be.

***

I was awakened from my dream of sea gulls on the beach of Cancún by the loud roar of an ambulance siren, maybe a block away from the hospital. It wasn’t much to wake me; I have been a light sleeper all of my life.