Riding To New York. flash fiction attempt.

"Sorry. There's nothing more we can do. You have three months to live. Is there anyone you'd like to call? You can use the phone in the waiting room for free.
Have you arranged someone to pick you up?"
I left. I didnt want to listen to his 'polite' jibber jabber. No theres no one to pick me up. My family moved. New York, New York.  Its not like I can just fly over. It costs thousands. Just grab a bike and go... Yes. Of course. I'll grab my bike and go. New York.

reading?

My favourite book is the perks of being a wallflower. I highly recommend this to anyone who hasn't read it. Its a coming of age story about a boy with anxiety and depression.
Just going to put it out there that my favourite poet is Simon Armitage and highly recommend any of his work. Wilfred Owen is also pretty great.

I need to read some short stories so if anyone can suggest anything that'd be great.

One small step for girl.

One small step for girl, one giant leap for
Toddler. Lunch is fine for some
But I must climb these stairs.
Its destiny.

These cheese and pickle sandwiches are poor.
There's art upstairs, you must come
See. I want to know whats there
We need to see.

Who cares about lunch? I'd rather explore.
For who knows what I'll become,
Staying here on this chair
Will not help me.

Its not far now
I hear it call.
It does not care
I may be small.
I know not how
Or why or what,
Just climb these stairs
It'll be forgot.
For I must see
And I must go
To near the sky
Not down below.
Its time to leave
Its time to see
I will be peeved
I need to flee.

Lilly is Pretty.

What can I say to her? Can I tell her

She’s cute, she’s pretty, beautiful? Lilly.

Would that be appreciated? Is that

Too forward? Will she friend-zone me? Does she

Like me? Does she just think I am a freak?

Does she want me to phone? She knows I can’t.

Does she even want me to text? You don’t

Give your number if you don’t want to text.

Do I say ‘hey’ or ‘hi’ or ‘hello’ or…?

Brain Tumour.

It baffles me. It baffles me that people still see death as a bad thing. Why? Why is it bad? We are born into this world, and one day it will stop. Everything will stop.

I tell people my Nan has a brain tumour. They react like they’re unaware of death and its inevitability. Expect me to burst into tears? No. I refuse to cry about something so natural. When I found out that her life was going to end in such a horrific way, yes, I was sad. I cried when I realised I would never see her again.

It’s not death that makes me cry. Death is natural. Death is a gift.

Knowing that I want to die. It has been 6 years. I do not know what has to be solved, what has to be fixed. All I know is that I’m great. Great at pretending, distracting myself from those thoughts. ‘depression is liveable’ I’ve convinced myself and told others.

All I know, we are tiny, insignificant bits of carbon, it does not matter what I say or what I do. My whole life will be long, and ‘happy’ and… long. There is nothing I can do that will last. I will live my years with anxiety and depression; with my constant pretence and distractions. I will revel in the knowledge that one day I am allowed to kiss that sweet kiss of death. The worms will eat me up, maggots will feast.