Write down my story in case I disappear.
Not that I will be dying anytime soon. I am younger than my classmates. I have not lived half as long as most adults have. In fact, I have more than enough time to demand great expectations of myself—and my future.
No, this won't do. I'm already off to a horrible start. You don't begin by talking about death.
I'm sorry. Let me start over.
My name is Cyrus.
I have always been a pathetically fragile child, prone to fevers and infections that have dragged me to the edge of eternal sleep until—as though developing a last-minute conscience—death lost interest and left to pursue stronger prey. The world did not hold back: it punished me with an arsenal of bacteria and viruses but never had the heart to successfully finish the job.
Whenever I fell ill, my parents left me in the care of my maternal grandfather. When they returned, they found me alive and kicking—and a bit taller. You can say I grew up from my near-death experiences.
Anyhow, now that I've grown, I can take care of myself. Every week I will receive funds to purchase some food, and a portion of it goes towards over-the-counter analgesics that work like a scientific miracle. I carry a magic bottle with me always in case I am ambushed by illness.
Due to my brittle constitution, however, I spent most of my early childhood indoors. My only friends were made of paper, ink, and metal. It did get lonely. Some nights felt far too long when I had only my thoughts for company.
When my grandfather gave me this notebook a few days ago, I was overjoyed. I was so happy that you could say the gates of my heart were flung open and my joy flew far over the sea! Why? Because the timing was perfect.
My health has gotten better, and the season of summer is just beyond the horizon. I can go outside, savor every last drop of the sun that bathes my city, and record those memories so that I may re-live them if I blink and find myself suddenly bedridden.
Again, I do not anticipate producing a complete story with a beginning, middle, and end. This notebook will be a collection of my observations and thoughts. I'll just be… putting pen to paper.
If the unfortunate is to happen to me, then this notebook will be proof that this hapless little boy existed.
So allow me to fill your pages, my silent friend. As I write in you, I write to you. I'd like you to remember me and, through my words, keep me from disappearing.