CHAPTER-1: The Bucket List

Peter lay on the hospital bed looking out of the window. The expression on his face was blank. He heard his mother crying outside the room. His father was trying his best to console her. He sighed and continued writing in his new diary that his counselor had given him to write about stuff that made him happy. At first he thought it was a stupid thing to do but because he had nothing to do, he started writing. A smile graced his face as he wrote what he had in his mind.

He was in the last stage of lung cancer. According to the doctors, he only had a month or two left to live which was the very reason his mother was bawling her eyes out. He didn't dwell much on that fact though. He had already accepted it. He had always thought he'd have died sooner but he at least lived to cross twenty.

Even as a kid, he was weak, frail and delicate. Sick. Most of the time. He was homeschooled. He never went to school due to the fear of kids picking on him because of his absolutely pathetic state. He had had cancer as a kid but he recovered from that only to be hit by it years later.

He made an attempt to brush of his brown shaggy hair that reached to his eyes, only to remember that he had no hair anymore. It happened sometimes. It had become sort of a habit when he had his thick locks. If he had hair he'd have it pinned back with the help of a hairband. He clenched his fingers into his palm, letting out a heavy breath. Plastering the smile again, he resumed writing.

His mother came in after she had calmed down. Her eyes were red and puffy and her face looked pale. "Hey!" He said with a warm smile directed towards her. She smiled and sat next to him, "What are you writing?" "Just something." He closed the diary so his mother couldn't see what he had written.

"Are you okay kid?" She said as she released a shaky breath. "Yea, Mum. I'm totally fine." He chuckled, "I mean- look. How am I not looking alright." He said dramatically posing like a model. His mum giggled. "It's not so bad. I feel great actually." The smile on his face growing wider. To that his mother could only reply with a small smile and a kiss to his forehead before leaving him alone in the room again.

He opened his diary and looked at what he had written. He had a satisfied grin on his face. He then took a red gel pen and wrote above the context in big, bold letters-- MY BUCKET LIST.