Dallas Simons (that's pronounced like simins but looks weird, so I went with the other spelling) best friend, Quincy Davis, discovers she has terminal cancer. Dallas and Quincy have known each other their entire lives, or almost that, so Dallas is taking this pretty hard... Basically, it's a story about friendship and all that yatta yatta.... I'm really not that good at explaining things, so if you want, read the story and find out for yourself about how this goes.
"I wanna be an actress! One of the most famous actresses in the world!" Quincy shouted, laughing. I laughed along with her.
"I wanna be a princess living in an extravagant castle with servants and the whole shabang!" I yelled, laughing harder.
We were playing dress-up in front of the mirror, and telling each other what we wanted to be when we grew up. Quincy was in a long black dress that happened to be a whole foot longer than it should've been for someone her size. I was wearing a light pink sparkly dress, and my curly brown hair in an up do, with a plastic crown upon my head. This night was probably one of the funnest times I've had growing up with Quincy at my side. We were nine then.
Now, six years later, I came back to reality as the ambulance hit a pothole and Quincy screamed in agony.
I started crying harder, whispering that everything was going to be okay, and that she would be fine. Whether this was true or not, God only knows.
Quincy nodded, but gasped and whimpered as the movement caused her pain.
"It's okay; don't move," I told her, willing for her to be fine.
The EMT's that were doing the best they could to help Quincy survive were speaking, but I wasn't paying much attention to the low lull of their voices.
"You said your name was Dallas, right?" a woman asked me kindly. I nodded, stifling a sob.
"Okay Dallas. Do you have a cell phone?" I nodded again. "Would you call Quincy's parents and let them know what happened and tell them that she's on her way to the hospital?" the woman asked as a machine started beeping frantically. She turned from me hastily to face the machine and started doing her thing.
"We're losing her!" a man yelled. My heart stopped and jumped in my throat. The woman yelled something back, but I didn't catch it.
"One, two, three, Clear!" This repeated four other times, and finally the beeping returned to normal. "She's stabilized." I let myself breathe a deep sigh of relief.
Finally, I pulled my cell phone out of my coat's pocket and dialed the familiar number.
One, two three... I counted, taking deep slow, uneven breaths to calm myself. Six, seven.
"Mrs. Davis?" I gulped. "I'm not quite sure how to tell you this, but Quincy got shot. We're on our way to the hospital now," I told her, bracing myself for the yelling I knew I'd hear in a moment.
"What?!" She shrieked. "John, grab out coats; we gotta go now. Thank you, Dallas. We'll be there before you can blink."
I stifled another sob and nodded, knowing she couldn't see it. "Okay, see you soon." I hung up, and put my phone back.
In a few short, yet terribly slow, minutes, the sirens I never noticed were screaming came to a halt, and we arrived at the doors of Mercy Hospital.