The Flowers Will Always Grow

Its been only one day. And I have decided I don't really like Jet all that much. Basically the only things he cannot say right are Banana, Hospital, and, of course, Keacha. He mostly just sits, listens to his Ipod, and stares out the window. Whenever he tries to talk to me, I put a lay my head on a pillow, so at least one ear isn't tortured.

He mainly talks about his farm. He lived on a farm in Kentucky. He rode horses everyday, and he loved his horse Strider. Strider, he tells me, was white with brown spots coating her fur. This didn't really make sense to me. What if he was brown with white spots? But he insisted that  Strider was white with brown spots. So I didn't stick on that subject very long.

The one thing about Jet that really makes me sick is that he still thinks he will live. That he will see the sun again. That he will go home, back to Strider, back to Kentucky. But I know the truth. We both only have about a week. But thats what the doctor said a day ago. So now we only have about 6 days.

It's about 5:00 pm. We are about to eat dinner. I look over at Jet, who is drawing in a journal. I decide to be nice. But just this once. I hope he dosn't get the idea i'm gonna be nice ever again.

"So Jet, what are you drawing?"

"Strider. And Lucy." He tells me. Lucy is his pig.

"May I see?" He hesitates, but then sets down his pencil and hands me the sketch book. What I see in it astounds me. He has drawn a perfect little piglet, Its shape nicely rounded and the face so life-like. The horse in the picture is white...but I know if he had a brown marker, he'd fix that.

"Wow. Jet, these are really good." I say. I was never an artist. I have to admit im jealous....

"Thank you...What do you do for fun, Kach?" I cringe at my name. But i answer truthfully. Hes been honest with me.

"I swim." I reply simply.

"Oh, really? That's cool. I never was much of a swimmer. Just a horseback rider."

"I don't ride horses. So we are even."

And with that, our dinner was brought in. Cathy brough us our food, and we ate it in silence. It was still weird, eating with someone else in the room. I was used to silence. Peace. Lonliness. Instead, I was eating dinner with an artist who rode horses.

He would die happy. I would die miserable.

The End

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