Crisis:

The tarnishing pendent from her mother dangles freely from her pale neck. As she lies motionless on stained sheets. Her hair, messy lies piled around her head. Little pieces cling to her sweat traced forehead. The doctors swore it had left her body but here she lies coming closer to the face of eternity. In some way as I stand over her frail body I feel she has come to peace with her outcome. I want to grab her up into my arms and inhale the cancer from her lungs. But i cant... She cries out in the night for someone to kill her. But i would never for I don't have the heart. Instead I set against her white bedroom wall and watch her cold blue fingers grip at the bed rail in pain. Her screams fade and her thrashing stops. I approach my aunt and kiss her for the last time on her soft forehead. I know her soul has left, but seeing her limp body lie in front of me leaves me cold. Please come back to me! Please! I scream. Four years have passed and still writing this I feel as if cancer is the devil disguised. A killer who comes quickly and gives false hope before leaving with a soul. I want her bright smile and her warm hands to be how i remembered from childhood. But thinking back I remember cold blue hands and a sinking frown. Goodbye, I love you. Roxanna Johnson For the 'crisis' contest.