I stand there. Tears falling like shattering glass. Tension building up in the air. A slow rhythm beating repetitively, staining the walls with it’s sound. Lifeless strands of dead flat hair, fall as a silhouette around my pale face. My figure smudged in the centre of the cold room. Drop. Drop. Vicious droplets of icy tears, concave on the stone cement. An avalanche of impacting sounds, tumble.

Day in and day out I have to deal with the constant feeling of sadness, anger and neglect in a painful, smothering way. But today I was going to take a stand against it.

Soft silk sheets drape over me like a curtain. Hugging my penetrating body in it’s softness. Cradling the sheets in my arms, I shield myself from the unkind world. I take a small step off the bed. I always regret moving from this place, the place I can really feel safe. I step out closer to my calendar. The 28 May, glistens in gold ink. I collect the cracked cylinder from a high shelf. I sit on my bed. Tears rip down my scaly skin. I tip the bottle. The small white stones fall. They plummet down my throat. My mind freezes. A scream leaves my mouth. I gasp for air. My body shatters. I disappear. My life seized.

One frightful eye opens. It opens as if it were the first time. My name is repeated. Florence. Flow. Florence, darling? I try to figure out my whereabouts without causing a corruption. I squint so small that not even a magnifying glass could recognize they were open. My name still rumbles a tuneful sound. My eyes scan the room. A shy curtain, clings to a what I think is a window. Daylight shines through cracks. A stiff mattress lies beneath my numb body. Frayed sheets sprawl over as a cover. A small tube runs, parading in circles till it meets my pale arm. A needle is imbedded in the frail skin.

The shrieking memory still blazes in my mind. Screaming voices. Rude words tearing into my fragile heart. Tears begin streaming again. Words eat at my brain. You suck! Your so ugly, useless and no one likes you! Go die in a hole! I wish you weren’t even born. You were a mistake anyway. Your Mum didn’t even want you she dumped you on the road. If only you got hit by a car!! And don’t even get me going about your father, he bunked off before you were even born! Face it no one wants you! NO. ONE. WANTS. YOU!!

Suddenly I’m screaming like nobody cares. Pitch, not tune. On and off squawks. My feelings spiked. I hate my life. I hate my life!

A small girl then makes her way over to my bed, leaving her Mother’s staring eyes in her wake. A pink and red embroidered dress hangs from her skeleton. Smooth, baby pink skin shines through her purple striped stockings. A bubbly, but uncertain smile sits on her pale face. Around her neck is a beaded necklace. 17 beads and counting. That’s more than her age!! I smile back. A rather weak smile, but I still think she notices.
“Hello!” she says quite shrilly. I can’t manage to find the right words to reply.
“H-i.” I stammer, making a fool of myself. She takes my ungrateful welcome nicely, perching on the sea blue duvet.
“Are you ok?” she exclaims.
“Fine.” I try to sound normal, but why would a little girl want to talk to a stupid suicidal freak like me?
“Well, Mummy said that when I get out of here she is going to take me to the carnival. And...and I can eat candy floss for the first time, and..and on christmas we can have a real christmas lunch with my family for the first time!! I can eat with my Aunty who I’ve never seen before and I get presents!” Her voice almost sooths me, but she makes me wonder.

“I’ve been in here for 3 years now and I usually just get balloons and cards, but....most of them just say; you’ll get better, get better soon! But I don’t get it?” her confused voice bruises me in an unkind way.
“How old are you?” a random question, that can usually be quite rude.
“I’m 5 and 3/4...I think.”
“Five?!” I say, a bit too loud. The little girl nods and races away back to her four poster bed. The name imprinted on the end of one of the posts was; Octavia Marshlier. An unusual, but inspiring name.

A tall man comes striding in. A snow white lab coat flaring at his sides. Three tufts of hair sit scruffy on a bald head. His steady walk grinds to a halt. Presenting himself in front of Octavia’s mother. The mother stands hopeful. The doctor must’ve seen this look, though his eyes weaken.
“Yes, Doctor?” a still hopeful voice sounds.
“Results aren’t looking good I’m afraid. Her liver cancer has spread, and I’m sad to say that she didn’t respond to the radiotherapy.” the woman's face drops.
“Isn’t there any other way....”
“Well there is another rare treatment-
“Yes-
“But there is a 60% chance that she won’t come through.”
“I’ll take it anyway! I need my daughter.”
“It is a very risky procedure and chances are weak.”
“Didn’t you hear me! I want to do it!” the woman’s voice picks up.
“Okay Ma'am. I was just checking that you were sure.”
“Well I am!”

The man walks off at a rather unsteady pace. The mother tries to ease her anger and patters over to Octavia. I freeze. Gobsmacked. That poor girl! How stupid does that make me look. I got myself in here a selfish way and she didn’t even expect to be here. She was unlucky and I was selfish!

Sunday waved by like a breeze. I prepare myself for school, as it is my first day back. Am I ready? Can I do it? I flick through the paper, scowling at each page. My gaze falls on a rather sad page. My eyes fix on the big title labeled; DEATHS. The worst page in the newspaper, I never usually read it, but something catches my eye. A name. A tear flops down my face.
“No! It can’t be! Why?”
In front of my face a name is neatly printed in black ink; Octavia Marshlier.