CHAPTER 12 : Secrets And Lies

I didn't leave the house very often. My father disapproved of it. The only times I stepped foot out of the house was when I had to go to the doctor. I hated it, I hated hospitals in general. With stark white walls, the stench of antiseptics and the overbearing dreary atmosphere, how could anyone not hate hospitals. I hated having to endure a billion tests that all yielded the same result, inconclusive.

I had been sick most of my life, longer than I could even remember. No one could ever figure out what was wrong with me. But one thing was for sure, I was dying. They didn't tell me this, of course. How does one tell a five year old child that they're dying. But I knew it though, I could see it in the eyes of the nurses who tended to me, they held such pity.

I was only five, I didn't want to die. I had barely lived. It terrified me so much, I spent countless nights crying myself to sleep. No child should ever have to deal with something like that.