Dying sucks, probably more then being a sixteen-year-old boy. Behind you, your parents are talking loudly with one another, trying to come to grips with something you already have. They were with you when you went to see the doctor, listening in shock to every word she said. Your mother had cried, your father had shouted, and you had sat there numbly, trying to imagine shrinking until there was nothing left. You had gone through all the phases of acceptance and had come out refreshed and accepted the fact that you were going to die. You’re parents though were stuck on several different stages.
“I’ll sue the quacks that run this place! I’ll sue the government for not telling us this could happen! I’ll sue science for letting this happen!” You distance yourself from your father as he gets louder and louder about whom he is going to sue. He’s stuck on anger, unable to let go of his irrational rage against a disease that no one’s ever heard of. You’re dad has always been a passionate guy, big, burly and very active. Apparently, he had considered playing professional football in his younger years, but a bad leg injury had kept him from going pro. You’ve always looked up to him and now that you’re several inches shorter, you really do have to look up to see him. Right now, you only wish he would stop screaming, people are staring. You find it a waste of energy to blame someone for the things no one can control. Time could be better spent enjoying the life you had left rather then getting angry.
“My poor baby! He had such a bright future! He could have been a doctor, or a scientist or the president of the United States of America!” You want to get away from your crying mother, but she has wrapped you in a tight hug and is not letting you go. She’s stuck on grief, crying loudly and trying to stay as close to you as possible in fear of inevitably losing you. All you can do it pat her on the back and tell her everything going to be fine, which in truth it isn’t. You’re mom has always been there for you, she gave up a career to raise you and your sibling. As a stay at home mom, she’s been there for you through thick and thin, and you love her for that. You let her bury her face in your shoulder and cry, rubbing her back as she wails.
At the age of sixteen, you are going to die, tragic of course, but at least you’ll be surrounded by your family. You have regrets of coarse, you’ll never get to tell the head cheerleader at your school that you love her and get laughed at for being a dweeb. You’ll never graduate high school and go to college. Most of all, you regret that you’ll never lose your virginity. Kind of a stupid thing to worry about when your on deaths door, but you always wanted to know what it felt like to make love with a woman. It’s what all teenage boys dream of, having sex with a hot girl. Now it’s too late, you’ll never lose your virginity because soon you won’t be able to look a woman in the eyes without a step ladder. Now that was tragic.
The thought of how your going to die wanders through your mind. Shrinking down sounds kind of cool honestly, if you ignore the fact that you’ll continue to shrink until a speck of dirt becomes the size of the Empire State building. You could do so many cool things shrunken down, like peek into the girl’s locker room or look up look up skirts. Right now, all you can focus on are the perverted purposes of being small, but who can blame you? Hormones rage inside you, demanding you go nuts now that your times up. However, you have no clue on how to quell these raging feelings.
You look between your crying and screaming parents, wanting to get away from all the drama before you break down. You’re only holding it together out of the fact that you don’t have enough time left to feel sorry for yourself. You got to enjoy these last few days as much as you can.
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