Why?

It's January. Snow is falling outside my window and I know I won't live to see another spring. This is the thought that breaks my heart. Not because I'm afraid of dying, no. Because I love Spring. I love the flowers, the warm sun on my back. That is what I will miss. I won't miss this pain. I won't miss this slow, horrible death.

I've been hiding here for weeks now, ever since the blisters began to show on my hands and face. My skin is pale and dry like parchment. Cracking and pealing painfully. I'm hot and thirsty. Always thirsty. I turned off the heat days ago. I sit at the window, watching the snow fall. Dying and wondering, 'Why me?' I was never heroic, true. I never did great things to save human and mutant kind. I never did anything to hurt anyone either. My powers could barely heat up a cold cup of coffee.

So why am I the one dying?