It was night. The silence in the hospital was only broken by the beeping of machines as they chunked loudly over and over. A boy lay in a bed in the centre of the room his eyes closed. He was pale, his grey face contrasting with the extreme white of the sheets that made the room so horribly sterile as if he was the only living thing in it. His hair was as brown as his eyes, a deep brunette, but instead of sitting in its usual stance it hung in strands lining his pale face. He was awake but quiet; saving his strength. He lay on his back looking up at the tiled ceiling counting the tiles one two three as the world ticked strenuously by. An IV hung above him constantly dripping a burgundy liquid into his snaking veins. Morgan didn't know why they called it 'pumping' someone with drugs. The whole process was rather slow as if he was waiting by the sea expecting a tsunami to smack him in the face but only feeling the tiny lapping if waves as the advanced and retreated over his feet. The doctors had told him it would help cure the cancer. It was his blood that was infected he couldn't even feel it only knowing it's presents through the beating if his tired heart. The chemo was the only thing that made him aware of his condition. With each drop of liquid he knew he was one drop closer to death. Ultimately he knew he was going to die. He had seen the look on his mother's face when then told him how late they had discovered the cancer. He knew this gave him a disadvantage but even though the chemo could work what had he to live for, his baby sister? He knew he would only bring her pain. Even if he didn't die today he would die of the cancer and he would be ripped away from her when she needed him the most. He understood the need for loved ones so early in life he only wished he'd had the family his sister would have. With a teen mother and an absent father Morgan hadn't been surrounded with such a unit.
Morgan read the poster on the back of the door for the thousandth time. Coughs and sneezes spread diseases he recited in his head as if he thought that maybe once it would reveal a hidden message or a sign something to force him to hang onto the life that was dripping away from him. He looked up from the poster as three people entered the room. His doctor a shabby man in his mid-fifties who looked as though he had had an accident with hair jell as if he'd grasped his hair in a moment of anger and it had never flattened since. The grey mattered mass stuck out at odd angles but he looked quirky giving Morgan a slither of hope. He liked I think the man was some sort of mad scientist. He had the look, but Morgan knew the truth, he only told himself that in the hope that he may have been mad enough to create a cure for cancer. Behind him a man and a heavily pregnant woman shuffled in both in their late twenties. The man, tall and muscular, with a tanned face creased with laughter lines which were now relaxed to reveal the fear in his face. The woman's eyes were red and her face sticky; she had been crying. The group presented themselves standing at the end of Morgan's bed. He tried to sit up to at least pretend to his mum that he wasn't as sick as he actually was to provide her with at least one facade to clutch on to but the movement made his pale chest twinge in laboured coughs. Even his arms which once had been the arms to dunk the last basket at his last championship game crumpled beneath him unearthing his pretence for all to see.
Dr Chapman eyed his mum and stepdad quickly before taking off his glasses and admitting: "your charts aren't showing any signs of progress.
He looked uneasily at the couple again as if waiting for permission to continue and then said: "we've come to the end of a long road together Morgan the fact of the matter is that if this new protocol doesn't start to work then there's not much more we can do"
Morgan looked at his mum ashamed as if he had done something to disappoint her. He knew his mum had her heart set on this new cure but even if it worked in the short term there was no certainty of knowing whether it would work in the long.
Dr Chapman walked over to his bed and unhooked the drip of chemo.
'We need a day to let the chemo out of your system but by tomorrow we will be able to start the new protocol.'
Morgan didn't have the courage to look his mum in the eye but he could feel his mother's focused on him. He rolled onto his side in an attempt to be released from his mother's glare. He knew it was cruel what he was doing to her he felt it was his fault with every day that passed that he had caused his cancer.
'Are you tired hon?' his mother managed to choke out.
He nodded and closed his eyes. His throat was choking up. He swallowed hard but as much as he tried the ball in his throat would not move.
With a sigh marking the end of the consultation the doctor patted his feet.
'Don't lose hope son.'
He nodded at his parents and the left followed. The couple looked longingly at their son. They knew he felt guilty about his disease but they couldn't push it, he just needed time to adjust that was it. What the two didn't notice was the bloody look in the stepfather's eyes as he glared I a longing stare at the blood as it fell in taunting drips. Morgan's mum turned around feeling the strong arm around her shoulders tense. As she looked into her husband's face she only saw tears unaware of who or what he really was. She moved her head in the direction of the door and they shuffled awkwardly out the same way they came in.
