The First Snowfall - Art Prompt Writing Contest #8 Entry

This is my original entry for the Art Prompt Writing Contest #8 hosted by @gmuxx. The photo below was to be used as the writing prompt for a short story between 500 and 1500 words.

Photo Credit: @sad-dad

The First Snowfall

I attempt to peer out the window and watch as the first snow starts to fall. It relaxes me as I drift in and out of consciousness.

The fireplace is roaring in the corner of the room, to break this never ending chill that aches my bones. The embers whisp in upward motions creating patterns of scrolls and lines. The fireplace is made of a dark stone and a cedar mantel hangs lifeless above the opening. The mantel is adorned with pictures of me with my family. One, in particular, is held upright in a tarnishing silver frame. It’s of me at my twelfth birthday. Dressed in roller skates, I stand with my favorite gift in hand. It’s the newest, biggest Nerf gun. I had begged for it for months and to my surprise my parents bought it for me. Unfortunately, it looks like that will be the last birthday I get to celebrate.

There are chairs sitting around the perimeter of my room. They are occupied, but I can't tell who occupies them. I see the figures, but I can't make out their familiarity. I can hear my mother's voice. Her voice trembles and shakes as she speaks to the others. I can smell a mix of cologne and perfume, but my eyelids refuse to work. I can only see flashes of the room. Slits of color that over take my vision each time I blink. I can only see flashes of the snow outside the window. The rest of what I see, is filled in by the conversation in the room.

Now, I smell latex. It must be the lady in the the blue uniform. The nurse is administering more pain medication. I know this because it takes me over quickly. I can feel its results before she gets the dose completely pushed through the IV. There is a machine somewhere behind me that beeps, as though it has its own pulse.

“Not much longer,” I hear her say to the audience.

“Not much longer,” I repeat to myself. No one can hear this but me, as I haven't been able to speak for days.

Ten months ago, I was riding my bike on a homemade ramp. I was trying to make my bike do some jumps and tricks when one of my tricks went terribly wrong. The front wheel hit the ground at a sharp angle that sent me over the handlebars of my black Huffy bike. My head hit the payment with heavy force. My mom rushed me to the hospital to make sure I would be okay. They ran a few tests and determined the bump on my head would be fine; however, there was something else. There was cancer.

I was diagnosed with stage 3 osteosarcoma, bone cancer. I couldn't comprehend what was happening. My mother started sobbing and hugging me uncontrollably. Later, after more tests we found out it was aggressive. Not only that, after 6 months of chemo, the tumors were growing and it had started to spread. The cancer was now in my lymph nodes and a tumor was found in my brain. It’s been 2 months since the chemo was stopped and doctors determined there was nothing they could do. I've spent the last week, bedridden. I'm unable to move most parts of my body, except for my eyelids and even those disobey.

I've always been a skinny kid, but now what muscle I had is gone. I haven't been able to take food the past few days. It makes my stomach hurt and makes me nauseous. Anything I eat eventually comes back up anyways. So I choose not to eat.

The snow, what I can see, looks so beautiful. It falls fast in the whirling, swirling winds. It covers everything in a clean, white powder as it falls. It sticks to everything it touches. I wish I could be out playing in it, but I'm told I need my rest. As I struggle to watch the snow, my eyes close.

I think about sunny days and playing with the neighbor's golden retriever. I think about birthday cakes and snow days off from school. Then, memories of fishing trips with my grandfather take over my thoughts. I wish I was there now. Sitting next to the peaceful lake, in my cozy navy colored camping chair with my red Zebco rod and my camo tackle box full of lures. I'm not sure if the others in my room can see, but I'm smiling. In my mind I'm breathing in the fresh air and taking in the scenery. I am at peace.

Unconsciousness inevitably sets in. The beeping behind me, no longer has a pulse. It turns into a solid hum.