CHAPTER ONE

As I sit in the uncomfortable solid green chair, I try desperately not to fiddle with anything. I'm one of those kids that has to always be doing something, or your mind goes completely blank, just like an extremely bland, and also fairly boring, piece of paper - not saying I'm dull, I'm up-beat and pretty sure I can't stay angry for longer than 10 seconds!

In some ways fidgeting is a good thing, because you have an excuse on not knowing what to do in school lessons, but at times like this, I wish I didn't have my stupid butter fingers.

I might just be paranoid, but I was attracting a lot of attention to myself because of it. A little to much attention for my liking.

My gaze goes from the Christian cross placed almost directly in the centre of the small church basement, directly to a girl that looked just like someone who I had tried so hard to forget about...

Lived with Cancer.

Died with Cancer.

Someone I wanted to love; wanted to care about - but I guess I felt something that I still feel ashamed of to this very day. Guilt.

I stayed by her side till the very end... but she could no longer cling onto life. I remember that day only very slightly. That one phone call that woke me up from my unusually peaceful slumber... I had tried and succeeded to forget about it - until now.

Could it really be her? I have never been a big believer in the supernatural (ghouls, devil pumpkins and evil librarians), but is it really possibe to look nearly exactly identical to someone else? I've heard of 'clones' but I'm pretty sure that Earth is not the Death-Star with millions of identical specimens. Or maybe not?!

I then began staring at her, like my life was depending on it, and then all of a sudden our eyes locked on each others. Her eyes were a striking deep green, just like the sea when the sun's rays strike onto it, and hit you with what feels like a beautiful calamity.

They were so beautiful that I was sure that my eyes were playing tricks on me, but they couldn't have been ... could they?

Okay Gus, it's not her I told myself, but for some reason I couldn't stop staring. Those arms; those legs... I thought to myself.

Stop it Gus! Said the voice inside of my head, and then I began mentally slapping myself. Every so often I tightened my hands into firm fists, to stop myself from smacking myself in the world I was stationed in.

I stopped after I heard Patrick, the support group leader, say my name. Without a second thought, I began reciting out loud.

"My name is Augustus Waters," I said "I'm seventeen. I had a little touch of osteosarcoma a year and a half ago, but I'm just here today at Isaac's request."

As if on cue, Patrick responded by saying with not one sight of structure to his voice,

"And how are you feeling?"

I took a second to think. Maybe I should make a play on words? Maybe I should just keep it plain simple? I then decided I would do a mix of both. Simple, but would leave you thinking. My favourite choice, when it comes to times like this... I mean being put on the spot.

I don't come to support groups as a day to day hobby. Just thought I should tell you that...

"Oh I'm grand." I say smiling with the corner of my mouth. "I'm on a rollercoaster that only goes up, my friend."

I then relax sinking deep into the plastic chair- if you know what I mean, the plastic of the chair easily moulded into my body. I begin staring at the same girl again. She began smiling back at me broadly, and then all of a sudden starts staring at me piercingly.

Oh a staring contest I thought, laughing inside my head.

I've not lost one of these since the 4th grade.

An evil grin started to appear across my face.

Game on.

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