Fighting Until The Very End
Summary: Desirae is dying. She goes the races to forget, she wasn't planning on meeting the King of the Streets, Dom Torreto, she wasn't planning to be accepted, and she wasn't planning on leaving behind a family. But when you are accepted by Dom the others fall in line, and Desirae gets a family for the first time, at the end of her short life.
Author's Note: So it's been a while hasn't it? You almost stopped looking for my updates didn't you? Well my muse sang her siren song into my ear once more and here I am listening. This is a Fast and Furious tribute, mostly because I love cars, and I love Vin Diesel... enough said. Anyway... not sure how well this one will turn out, because I know next to nothing about cars, so excuse my inaccuracies. So enough rambling, and in true FireFlyFlicker style... ON WITH THE STORY!
Prelude: Start of it All
-Ready-Set-Go-
Gripping the wheel of the 1969 Shelby Mustang tightly, I watched as the racer chaser makes her way slowly to the front of the cars, all humming and growling for the race to begin. Once upon a time, I came to the races to be spectator, and to get my adrenaline fix, on the sidelines, while my favorite racers did all the work. But now, now, I'm doing the stupidest thing I've ever done in all my twenty-one years. I'm sitting behind the wheel of a vintage high-performance vehicle, ready to compete in a ten second race that will either win me my opponents cars, which I don't need, or lose me my vintage baby, which also I don't need, but would like to keep simply out of vanity. There was also a lot of money on the line, six thousand dollars to be exact.
"Don't worry Elanor. I'm freaking out plenty for both of us." I say to car, rubbing my sweaty palms on my legs. I look up, and watch as the racer chaser, stands in front of us, and points to the Mazda RX-7, the driver revs the engine and she screams "READY?" She then points the Nissan Skyline next to me, and screams "SET?" I clench the wheel tightly between my hands and wait for my turn.
"Well if I'm going to die, might as well go down swinging." I say softly to Elanor and grip the steering wheel tighter. The skank looks at me, and raises her arms above her head. My engine revs loudly, the turbo squealing as it takes in more air.
"GO!" her arms drop and I shoot away from the starting line.
So... let's rewind a little shall we? My name is Desirae Morningstarr, and I am a twenty-one year old who will never see her twenty-second birthday.
You see, I have cancer, it's bad, nonoperational, and I will die in six months to a year. I guess you could say this is my way for flipping the Grimm Reaper the bird, because if I wasn't so sick, you could guarantee you I would not be doing this.
When I was diagnosed I was alone, just like always, and I couldn't believe that it could happen to me. I know the statistics, I know the likelihood of getting cancer, and I know the percent of survivors who live through cancer, especially cancer as advanced as mine. It's a one in one hundred thousand chance by the way. I wasn't hoping to be the one out of one hundred thousand, I wasn't hoping for some miracle cure, I wasn't hoping for anything but some time to live the way I wanted to. That's why I'm putting it all on the line. If I've got to die I want to die in style, fighting and kicking the whole way. And when I die, I want to die peacefully with as little pain as possible, and as little of a fuss, which won't be hard since my mother is dead (from cancer) and my father walked out on us when I was 16.
I know what you're thinking, and I know that this is crazy, but I'm fighting for another month, another week, hell I settle for another day, and I know that it won't happen but when you are dying you do desperate things... the cliché goes "Desperate times call for desperate measures" yeah, that's really true.
If you're reading this then I'm probably gone, and if I'm not dead, I'm probably withering in some hospital bed in pain, wishing I was dead. My auburn hair is probably gone from failed attempts at chemo-therapy, and my small, five feet two inch frame, has probably withered to next to nothing from the intense treatment that won't make a fucking dent in the cancer that destroys my body.
But you've got to know, you have to know that I tried, that I fought as long as I could. I'm not expecting to be remembered, but I would like someone, and single soul out of the six billion left on this planet, to put flowers on my grave and say: "Desirae, you were one crazy bitch and I'll miss you." That's all, one person to say that they missed me, that they had needed me, even if it was a short moment, and that I won't be forgotten to the sands of time.
Racing is my guilty pleasure, and it's my one passion, even though I don't drive very well, I love cars. I love the sound of them, and I love the feel of a high powered engine, and I love the drivers. My doctor's told me to take it easy, to not put my body through so much stress, but like I said if I'm going to flip the Grimm Reaper the bird, I'm not going to do it halfway.
So I'll tell you the story of my greatest triumph, and of the family I gained in my last moments alive. No one can ever say I died alone, but hell; I really don't want to die. So if anyone makes that comment I'll just have to figure out away to punch them in the face.
-00-00-00-
Author's Note: So it begins. I started this almost six months ago, and it is almost done. I'm not sure how long it will take me to update this, but I can assure you that I have at least 65% of the story written, unlike my other work that is currently all on a total hiatus. I don't wanna post anymore of this story until I know how it will be received so... to avoid the grey area of fanfiction, I'm only gonna post once I feel like I'm getting enough feedback. If you wanna say something about my story, feel free to comment here as a review or shoot me a P.M. I really don't care. Just don't be rude, that my friends, is poor form and I don't wanna have to deal with it.
It's late over here, and my eyes won't focus quite right. I think it's time for this wannabe author to go to bed. Night ya'll.
Yours,
Ells, aka FireFlyFlicker