Back home, I once again retired to the quiet solace of my room and took out my Death Folder. It told everyone why I had died, it told them to have strength. Whenever I had feelings that I could tell no one, I would write them on scraps of paper and tuck them inside. This time was no different. Taking another piece of paper, I settled back on my bed and began to write.
'Today I decided not to have much chemo. No one understands why. The truth is that I believe I have suffered enough and I will take my beating in due course, why should I have to endure weeks of feeling sick and being dizzy? You cannot understand because you are not me. I have chosen my own fate. So I know I will die. Therefore I need to go in my own way. I hope you all understand and please do not resent my choices, because I know deep down in your hearts, you will one day.'
This I also stuffed in the green folder and shoved it back under my bed.
Exhausted from all the emotional stress I was under, I lay on top of my covers, staring up at the blank wall, all but lost to the world.
Absentmindedly, I pictured my funeral. My coffin was cheap, just as instructed. Half of the school seemed to be crammed into the pews, along with a couple of teachers, Miss Davis, my parents, my brother and Heidi. All of them were crying as the minister read out my favourite bible passage, Corinthians 4-8. The scene was oddly serene and beautiful, but only because I was not part of the sorrow and I was glad I wasn't.