Title: Cancer
Category: Anime/Manga » Shingeki no Kyojin/進撃の巨人
Author: Jaegershark
Language: English
Rating: Rated: T
Genre: Tradgedy/Angst
Published: 05-08-2014 (English Order)
Words: 1,504
27th January
Eren was dumb, but he wasn't stupid.
He knew it was caused by a rouge cell, slowly multiplying until it spreads through your whole body, dysfunctioning your systems before you heart suddenly stops and your family mourn you. Only he has no one to mourn him. Haha, yes sweetheart, it's called Cancer. It made his lungs tighten and it made him bone-thin, and he would cough out blood. He'll get tired easily after doing something so minor and he would sleep for the rest of the day. And sometimes people would panic if they were to notice he hadn't woken up for a few days because his pulse was so faint and he barely breathed, and his eyes wide shut. His limbs would jerk and he would call out hoarsely until he couldn't speak anymore. And when he lost his voice, that's when people started to notice.
28th January
He was a loner, poor kid. He never had any friends. He was always shying himself away from other people and so he never had anyone to confide into when he was emotionally suffering. He fell into a deep pit called depression. If you're lucky enough you could see under his longsleeves that he had cut far too deep, the scars far too visible. And there were many of them, up to his shoulders. It was like painting a canvas, see. And irresistable, you can do it without even learning. But instead of pretty white clothes stapled to a wooden frame and dainty little brushes kindergartens use you use your body. The knife acts like a brush. But how it works is that you tear up the canvas and the canvas will give you one-coloured paint. You tear the canvas up to pieces, or even break the wooden frame apart. And when the canvas is too filled with paint, Eren moved down to his hips and his legs. And when someone noticed the faint whiff of blood he would've already blacked out, knocking on death's door for the umpteenth time.
Someone told me that in the first few months he never told anyone. Not that he had anyone to tell, anyway. Then there were small traits people had started noticing. He would cough and he would carry tissues around him everywhere, covering his mouth when he coughed. Sometimes he hacked so badly he had to forcefully end a convo and run into the Gent's, blood suddenly gushing out of his throat with sudden force, and so he vomited the red liquid, his lips crimson, his breaths coming short, perspiration dotting his gray face. And that's how I found out - when I went in there he was shaking head to toe in the corner, blood in the sink, and he would sob, covering his mouth, lungs already too weak to cry.
29th January
In my personal opinion he was a weakling. Too... Vunerable. He couldn't stand up for himself and let everyone control him like a mere puppet. Hell, even a little kid could boss him around, and I'm not going to be surprised if he fallen of a cliff if someone told him to 'go die'. The kid take a lot of things seriously. He pretty much has no sense of humour. You never seen him smile or laugh. It's just the same, sad, pained expression. And the thing is - nobody cared.
He's the kind of kid who would give something to gain friends. People actually lived and leeched off him. It's really saddening. Pitiful. He's already given too much, and he took so, so little, next to nothing.
30th January
I decided to come up to the kid one day. Bad decision, I know well it was, but I couldn't help it. He had no friends. No family. No-one. I'd thought I'll be his first companion and then he'll branch out on his own when he learned enough.
But I was wrong.
We grew to love each other. It was so wrong, revolting. We were inseperable. We both knew it - we've seen the disgust in people's eyes, but then one night where he would whimper at my touch and held his own body close to me... and then I realized I made a major mistake to love him.
31st January
I realized that a day will come when I will suffer more than him.
He was dying. It was toxic and poisonous to love someone when they're going to vanish completely from your life for eternity until you're a goner yourself. He'd spent all day and half the night coughing blood and painting himself bright red with a knife. His cries of pain and agony made my heart really wrench. Whenever I heard his cries I felt my lungs tighten - the same feeling Eren himself had felt over and over again, like a broken replaying casette. There were nights where I wonder if he'll die from this sickening disease or from hacking himself with a knife.
I brought him to the doctors then. They said it was already too late to do anything else. He didn't cry. He knew all along. But this made me suffer.
And from that day on, everybody became fearful of me. I was protective of Eren. I would yell and shout whenever they threatened him. They would return home black and blue if they as so much try to touch a hair of him. And Eren would watch me, clinging on to my back, tears in his eyes. Then he'll cry out when I finished lecturing them. Because nobody had ever stood up to him before. Of course he felt bad about those people I've injured, but then he's never had this feeling before.
1st February
So the scars stayed put, there were no more. He never painted himself again. One day I truly saw him smile and let out a soft laugh. Quiet - but it was enough for me. He gained confidence in his voice and he started to become more cheerful. His green eyes then would often glitter brightly. He gained friends, some black-haired girl and a blonde panicky boy. But he would never pay them as much attention as he did to me.
I was happy for him. Although I was known to have this stoic mask on me, I couldn't help but quirk both corners of my lips and raise them up, I smiled.
The coughing didn't stop, though. There were still times where his body lean over the counter and literally hacked his heart out. But this time there were a few people who would notice. They'll bring a glass of water or pat his back whenever the pain came to wash over him again. And I think at the beginning I said I would leave him on his own when he learned enough, but I could never bring myself to do so.
2nd February
He quit his job.
He insisted not to. I did. He blacked out almost everyday and his friends sere worried about him. He took his leave, then. He'd lie everday in his bedroom, forever sighing. We took turns in visiting him. We helped him.
I really wonder if I should leave him now so I won't face the concequences later.
Am I sounding really selfish, or am I just speaking the truth? He's dying. A rotting body the soul's leaving. Should I love him anymore or not?
3rd February
He wasn't sad about not having anyone anymore. He was sad about leaving them.
He asked to remove every clock in his house (he even threw out his phone). He croakily said that it reminded him that time is taking his life away for every second he lived.
He started cutting again. Deeper than before. But no, not with a knife. With his nightmares. He would wake up screaming, sweating, his hands shaking. He'd shriek and cry again. He would try to rip his hair out or attack non-existent monsters he accidentally punched my face. When these times come I would kiss him gently and tell him it would be okay. He'll fall asleep in my arms soon after.
4th February
He died.
Nothing else much to say here. I wonder if I want to hang myself because the pain was so intense. I made a mistake in loving him.
I wonder why Cancer existed. I'm going to kill whoever invented that.
His friends cried non-stop. They were howls of mental pain, more agonizing than what Eren had felt. It was life a chainsaw going straight through your heart and it sounded so painful. I didn't cry. Because I was died at the same time he died. I'm just a hollow empty shell now, like a zombie walking on Earth. I couldn't bear it without him. I made a mistake in loving him. Look at me, I'm talking to his grave!
And so one question remains.
Which one's better, hanging or pills?
But then at least the brat died with a smile on his face.
5th February
[Blank]
My grammar is crap and I suck at writing stories and that's all I'm going to say.
- Jaegershark