Prologue

Have you ever had one of those days where something bad happens and you hope and pray that's the end of it, but then something else bad happens? I know I have. In fact I've spent a good portion of my life like that.

You see; death is something that's inevitable. There's no way around it. Sooner or later we kick the bucket; it's a fact of life that we have to accept. We're all doomed from the start. Our bodies are ticking time bombs, doomed to fail, some sooner than others. Its something I had to come to terms with a lot sooner than I'd have liked too.

At six I had gotten asthma. I was nine years old when I was diagnosed with Muscular Dystrophy disease and Periodic Paralysis. By the time I was twelve I had been in and out of the hospital so many times I pretty much knew all the doctors and nurses by name, and had come to be known as a "regular."

It was really stressful on my mom. She'd taken off of work so many times to be with me that she ended up getting fired from her job at the local library. We were best friends, and she had always been there for me. With her I always felt safe and loved. When I was little I believed there was nothing my mom was afraid of but as I grew older I learned that wasn't so. Sometimes I'd hear her crying at night in the hospital or at home. She started drinking and taking prescription drugs. In the end she couldn't take it.

Just a few months before my fourteenth birthday, my mother, Elizabeth Hughes, took my dad's handgun, walked into the backyard and shot herself. The whole town was shocked, and my dad…I thought he was going to go off the deep end. All three of us, my dad, my brother, and me, were devastated but her death didn't affect them like it did me.

I lost more than my mom, I lost my best friend. Somehow though I managed to keep it together and stayed strong for my family, even though inside I felt like my world was falling apart. I had nightmares for the longest time after it and to this day I sometimes still do.

We didn't stay in our house, but moved into a small, three-bedroom apartment across town. It was weird because my dad had built that house and I'd lived there since I was three, but I think we all knew we couldn't stay there again. Without mom, it wasn't our home anymore.

Then, a few months later, came the worst news of all. The doctors discovered I had cancer. They gave me a year at the most, maybe two if I underwent chemotherapy, but I'd still end up dying before I turned eighteen.

My father was devastated. I'd sometimes hear him weeping, the sounds carrying easily through the thin walls of the apartment. We didn't tell my brother, though I wanted to. My dad begged me not to, he said that Mark was too young to be worried with thoughts of his older sister dying. In the end I kept my mouth shut, but inside I was aching to tell him.

I think the stress of raising two kids by his self was too much for my dad, and he was also very lonely without mom. Even though I knew no one could replace her I encouraged him to start dating again. None of them went well, until he met a manager's assistant from the bank named Jane Keaton. She was smart and pretty and dad really liked her. By the time of my fifteenth birthday they were married and their first baby was on the way. Jane was really supportive of my little brother but she disliked me for some reason. I wondered if it wasn't because I looked so much like my mom and Jane saw me as a threat.

When I was younger, and especially after my mother died, I use to get angry and end up screaming and yelling. I'd wonder what I did to deserve this, and why was I being punished. But by the time I found out I was going to die, I'd come to grips with it and didn't really worry about it. At least I wouldn't be in constant pain, I would finally be able to truly rest for the first time in years. I just wished my dad could have seen it that way.

Despite my obvious limitations, I wasn't that different from other kids. I went to school, did homework, watched TV, and had friends. I'd gotten really good at getting around with my crutches, so good that if needed I could run with them. There was plenty of stuff I couldn't do, but it didn't stop me from trying. One thing was for sure, I never gave up.

Now the reason I told you all of this is so you'd know this was a real story, and it doesn't end with a happily ever after. This is real life people, so if you're expecting some lovey, dovey, feel good story then I suggest you go check out the fairy tales, because I can guarantee you that's not what this is. In real life; bad guys don't always get caught, innocent people die, and evil usually wins.

Now that we've got that out of the way let me clear something else up. I haven't used anyone's real name in this story because, well you'll understand by the time I'm finished. So without further ado; let's get on with the story.

One more thing. If this was a fake story it might start out in the middle of the night with the wind howling outside. But since it's a real story we have to start where it really began. And where did it all start? On a toilet.