My hair is falling out in clumps as my skin slowly pales.

Beat! I tell my heart.

I’m trying, it echoes, though it’s slow and skippy.

My bones feel like wooden sticks, ready to snap and break. I urge them to stay strong, but they shake in feebleness.

I close my eyes and try and breathe without much thought, but my lungs ache and burn.

Live, I beg my body, live. I am not ready to die.

“Belle, why are you in your room again?” Mom asks, bringing in my laundry. “There is chicken parmesan on the stove.”

My stomach lurches at the thought of food. I try to hide my gag.

“I don’t feel good,” I whisper.

“Oh stop your nonsense, get up and go get some fresh air,” Mom responds, oblivious to my pain.

Reluctantly, I urge my body to stand as Mom leaves my room. Black dots sparkle in my vision before I get a hold of myself.

This may be your last time feeling the sun, my heart tells me.

Cherish its warmth, my soul adds.

I walk slowly to the green grass that glows in the golden sunshine. My body instantly warms and my skin attempts to gain color.

I lie down, flowers swaying beside me, warming my stone body. Maybe sunlight can revive me.

Closing my eyes, I feel the familiar thump of my heart slowly slow.

May death bring me peace.