A/n: Another chapter... this story is so different for me it's not even funny. but uh so yea..thanks for the reviews and I hope you like this chapter...I don't know if I do but it is the beginning of the story so only time will tell. I hope you like..

Being unconscious is a funny thing.

The whole time I was supposedly unconscious, I was in a meadow. Not physically, but mentally. The strange thing was, all I did in the meadow was lay there and look up at the sky. Sometime while I was in the meadow Macy/Mallory/Breanna (whatever!) came stumbling halfway down the hill, then disappeared. But other than that, I was pretty much just staring at the clouds.

And the next thing I know, a bright light is shinning in my eyes and my head hurts like hell. I was also vaguely aware that the nurse hanging over me was rather attractive.

I open my eyes all the way, only to have to shut them again because the lights. As my eyes slowly adjust to the lights, I feel the pain in my head worsen. I can see my mother sitting the chair beside my hospital bed, and dad stirring a cup of coffee. They are both crying. Mom, I want to say, it's alright…I'm awake now. But I can't sleep.

"Mom?" I croak out. She jumps two feet in the air. Literally. She let's out a sob and covers her mouth as her body shakes with tears. The nurse runs out calling for a doctor. I am dazed and confused. Mom throws her arms around me and kisses me. Something is wrong.

A few moments later, an old doctor enters the room. His eyes widen as he sees me. He rushed over to my bed and mom moves out of his way.

"Can you hear me?" He asks me.

"Yes," I try to say, but all I do is make a funny noise. I nod.

He holds up five fingers. "How many fingers am I holding up?"

I stare at him. "Five." I manage to croak out.

He points at my mom's orange shirt, "What color is that?"

"Orange." I reply. Talking is getting easier.

"What is your name?"

"Jake Ryan."

"Who is this?" He points at my dad.

"My father." I reply.

"His name is?"

"Stephan Ryan."

"Can you move your head for me?" I struggle and move my head side to side. It hurts.

"Can you wiggle your fingers on both hands?" I do so and nod.

"How about your toes?"

"Yes."

"If I told you your dog died what emotion would you show?"

"Uhh…sadness…" I reply. I am starting to wonder about all these questions.

"Right. What does this room smell like to you?"

Bleach, I thought. But I settled with, "Clean. It smells clean."

He sighs and sits down in a chair. I don't understand; I thought I answered those questions well!

"Any pain anywhere?"

"My head," I reply, "and my legs are a little sore."

He nods and says, "Do you think you feel well enough to sit up?"

I don't feel that bad, so I nod.

"Ride in a wheelchair?"

"Sure, why not."

He seems to be arguing with himself, but settles it by calling a nurse to being a wheelchair. A few minutes later I am sitting in a wheelchair, and I'm so confused.

"How long have I been out?" I ask.

"About a month. You turned 22 last week." He replies.

"A month?!" I exclaim as best as I can. He nods and says to me,

"Mr. Ryan…do you know what the word Prion is?"

I stare at him blankly, "Should I?"

He shakes his head and lets out a weak laugh, "A Prion is a protein that folds abnormally. It encourages all the other proteins to fold into irregular shapes, which affects their ability to function correctly."

I wait, so he continues.

"Transmissible spongiform encephalopathy diseases are believed to be caused by Prions. Do you know what those are?"

Of course I don't! I'm not a walking medical dictionary!! I am feeling worried, why is he telling me this? Does this involve me?!

"No, of course not."

"They are a group of progressive conditions that affect the brain and nervous system of humans and animals and are transmitted by prions. Mental and physical abilities deteriorate and myriad tiny holes appear in the cortex causing it to appear like a sponge (hence 'spongiform') when brain tissue obtained at autopsy or biopsy is examined under a microscope. The disorders cause impairment of brain function, including memory changes, personality changes and problems with movement that worsen over time."

I stare at him with my heart beating rapidly in my chest. I don't understand! What is he saying!?

"They include Gerstmann-Sträussler-Scheinker syndrome, Creutzfeldt-Jakob disease, fatal familial insomnia and Kuru in humans, as well as bovine spongiform encephalopathy commonly known as mad cow disease, chronic wasting disease, and scrapie in sheep."

I am getting mad. What do sheep have to do with me?! "Excuse me, but what does this have to do with me?" I ask him. He doesn't ask me, he just goes on.

"Creutzfeldt-Jakob disease is a very rare and incurable degenerative neurological disorder that is ultimately fatal. Among the types of transmissible spongiform encephalopathy, it is the most common."

"What the hell is a degenerative neurological disorder?!" I yell at him.

"A brain disease."

What is he saying?! I do not understand! I don't have a brain disease! I'm perfectly fine!

"So what exactly are you saying?" I ask him in a shaking voice.

"It is a very rare—

"Damn it! Just get to the point!" I holler at him. My hands are shaking.

He closes his eyes briefly and sighs.

"My. Ryan, you have sporadic Creutzfeldt-Jakob disease."

I can not breathe. I stare at him. The room is spinning. My hands are shaking. I am terrified. The only thing I can hear is his words ringing in my ears: Creutzfeldt-Jakob disease is a very rare and incurable degenerative neurological disorder that is ultimately fatal…

I can't have that! I am perfectly healthy! I am young! That's impossible.

"Excuse me?" Is all I can choke out. He sits down on a bench and rolls my wheelchair over beside it.

"The disorder itself is rare, occurring in about 1 out of 1 million people. It usually first appears in midlife, beginning between ages 20 and 70." He says quietly. At that point, One In A Million by Hannah Montana fills my head as I stare at him.

"It's incurable. We know of nothing to stop it from destroying your brain and killing you."

I feel something stabbing my body. That's not so, it can't be. I can't die. No, I can't! I Jake freaking Ryan!

"Sporadic you said…that one is curable isn't it?" I choke out.

He gazes sadly at me, "No. Sporadic is just the type it is. Sporadic CJD occurs for no known reason."

I can't accept that. I am not dying!

"I…how? How can I have this?!" I find myself yelling.

"No one knows for sure. Some believe it's prions."

"Well where the hell would I get prions from?!" I scream. My chest hurts. It hurts so bad. It's my heart. My heart is breaking. I'm dying. I can't be dying!

"Show me the evidence." I cry out.

"You had a brain biopsy done while you were unconscious about two weeks ago and the tissue showed CJD. We don't have it available to show, but it's there."

He is patient. I feel angry. He shouldn't be so patient. He should yell, throw something…

This isn't fair! Damn it! It isn't!

"So your saying that I'm going to die?" I whisper to him. He nods.

I don't know what to say. What do you say to that?

"How long." I find myself asking.

"Most people about seven or eight months. You'll be lucky to live for ten. Although, in some cases people have lived from one to two years after being diagnosed. But I would plan around eight months."

Eight months. I have eight months to live. That statement rang through my body painfully.

"What?" I cry as tears enter my eyes, "eight months? I don't…how…but…eight months?!"

He nods.

"There's no way to stop it?"

"No, I'm very sorry."

"What are the symptoms?"

"Personality changes, hallucinations, muscle twitching, muscle stiffness, nervous, jumpy feelings, changes in gait, lack of coordination -- stumbling, falling, speech impairment, poor enunciation (hard-to-understand speech or mumbling), sleepiness, deterioration in all aspects of brain function, profound confusion, disorientation…" He trailed off.

"I'm going to get all those?!"

"No. You could only get one, or maybe all. It all depends." He replied. I feel like throwing something.

"The cause of death is usually infection, heart failure, or respiratory failure." He states softly.

I punch the wall. I am furious.

"Usually I wouldn't tell you so soon...but your time is very precious." He states, then continues,

"It was caught early," he says, "so we can provide you with medication that might make the symptoms easier to control and allow you extra time."

"How much extra?"

"Like I said earlier…good cases a year or two."

"I am twenty-two! I want longer than that! It isn't fair!" I scream as fury takes over. I hit the wall repeatedly, each time harder and harder. Tears are rolling down my cheeks. The doctor is talking to me.

"Please, this won't be hard. We can make it—

"Not hard?! Tell me, what could you possibly do to make not dying hard?! I have so many things I want to do! So many people I want to see! I had plans! I don't want to die!" I yell.

He mutters something to a nurse that came over to assist.

"Come on Mr. Ryan, let's get you back to the room." She murmurs.

"I am not going back! I will not die in that hospital bed!" I yell at them both.

Next thing I know, my mother's arms are around me and she is rocking me back and forth. She doesn't tell me its okay, because it's not. It's not okay.

And it never will be again.

A/n: Like it or leave it, just make sure to click it. Thanks again for the reviews!