People get sick all the time. Kids and adults alike, catching the common cold, or complaining about the occasional stomach bug. People get sick of the weather, certain foods and certain people. They get sick of trying, and get sick of work. John Egbert, however, was sick of waiting. Sick of waiting for the next panic attack, sick of waiting for the nurses and doctors to come and do their check ups, only to declare that nothing had worked. Sick of waiting for his hair to grow back, only to have it all fall out after another chemo treatment. John was sick of waiting to die.

His dad would be here- and constantly is, making sure his son is okay, and bringing him things he would ask for. But, he has to work too. Has to have an income to support the illness that had taken away twelve years of his life, and was already on it's way to destroying him. But.. it was strangely okay with him. It was okay that, one day, his dad wouldn't have to work three Jobs. One day he'd be able to go out, find someone to be with and make a new family. He was okay with the rest of his family not having to worry or feel like they should do something when they obviously can't. And, if given the choice, he would be pulling the plug now- sick of this waiting game of life.

There was a few things to look forward to, though. For instance, weekends he was usually allowed to go out. He would be allowed out of the hospital a lot more, if there was actually someone able to take care of him. Schooling didn't happen, because everyone had decided to let the boy just enjoy his last few months without the worry of learning. But really, what was there to enjoy? Staring at the white roof all day? The occasional needles and awkward nurses coming in, not wanting to talk. Who would want to talk to someone dying, anyway? What was the point in befriending someone who was going to leave, and cause you more pain.

John, because of this, spent most of his days sleeping. And, you'd think that would make him unfit. It did, in a sense. He was a small boy- short and fragile, standing at almost 5'2. But, the fact that he could rarely keep his food down didn't make his weight any healthier, the medicine he was given often making him feel nauseous. That, and, throughout his time in hospital, he was just sick of it. At points he had decided to stop eating, easily using the excuse that he simply couldn't.

For the moment, he was curled up on his side, eyes closed while he dozed off, a full plate of horrible hospital food on a tray by the side of the bed. Sleeping felt like a sort of release for him- giving him a few moments to just enjoy himself, and not feel the way he did. And nothing would stop him from enjoying it, not even when the hospital room door opened up.