Post by Taylor Clear on Sept 25, 2006 16:01:06 GMT -5
Taylor was in one of those languid moods--tired and lazy, stuck in that place between reality, the past, and the future. She kept dwelling on random memories that were occuring to her out of nowhere. She thought about Nick a lot, oddly, staring at the telephone--waiting for him to call.
She was wearing charcoal grey leggings under cotton Aerie white-and-sky-blue striped pajama boxers, rolled over twice so they were short. She wore a Martha's Vineyard sky blue South Beach hoodie over a heart-patterned C & C tank top. Comfy stuff.
Sitting in her kitchen, the T.V. was on to a snobby girl recieving her Super Sweet Sixteen. Taylor glared at the sunlight streaming in through the picture windows mounted on the gleaming white eggshell-painted walls. It cast square patterns on the cool beige marble tiles. Taylor sat on a large, white-wicker-backed sky-blue couch, staring at the phone on the mahogany table in front of her. She hugged a spring green cotton pillow to her chest.
Bring... bring... br--
Taylor snatched the phone, wondering if it was Nick. A smile rose to her feautures as she tried to summon up a sexy voice. "Hello?" Fuck. She just sounded nervous.
"Hello, Taylor. This is Dr. Markham-Collins, your doctor? We have some news that might be a bit startling to you. From your latest blood tests we have determined--"
"Wait, are you saying that there's something wrong with me? Because there's not. I eat healthy, I exercise, I don't smoke, or drink, or do pot..."
"I know, Taylor, honey, and that's good. But this, you couldn't have helped. It appears you have a rare form of cancer--in your blood. It's spread all through you, and we're not sure if we can do anything to help. You'll start radiation on the fourth."
"Oh my god--no, you're kidding. This is Jeremy or Jimmy or someone, and you're playing a joke on me. This isn't happening. You're not serious!" Taylor was almost yelling into the phone, clutching it away from her face a couple inches.
"I'm sorry, Taylor--this reaction is natural. We can buy you years, and if we're lucky we can cure it. You'll be very weak, and very tired--your hair shouldn't fall out, though."
Tears streamed down her face. "No. No. This isn't real. This doesn't happen to me. You're kidding, this is a dream. NO!" She screamed, wiping furiously at her tears. She knew it was truth, though, somewhere inside her--but she had no idea how to accept it. The phone fell down as she cradled her head in her hands, crying her heart out.
Taylor was dying.
[/size][/center]She was wearing charcoal grey leggings under cotton Aerie white-and-sky-blue striped pajama boxers, rolled over twice so they were short. She wore a Martha's Vineyard sky blue South Beach hoodie over a heart-patterned C & C tank top. Comfy stuff.
Sitting in her kitchen, the T.V. was on to a snobby girl recieving her Super Sweet Sixteen. Taylor glared at the sunlight streaming in through the picture windows mounted on the gleaming white eggshell-painted walls. It cast square patterns on the cool beige marble tiles. Taylor sat on a large, white-wicker-backed sky-blue couch, staring at the phone on the mahogany table in front of her. She hugged a spring green cotton pillow to her chest.
Bring... bring... br--
Taylor snatched the phone, wondering if it was Nick. A smile rose to her feautures as she tried to summon up a sexy voice. "Hello?" Fuck. She just sounded nervous.
"Hello, Taylor. This is Dr. Markham-Collins, your doctor? We have some news that might be a bit startling to you. From your latest blood tests we have determined--"
"Wait, are you saying that there's something wrong with me? Because there's not. I eat healthy, I exercise, I don't smoke, or drink, or do pot..."
"I know, Taylor, honey, and that's good. But this, you couldn't have helped. It appears you have a rare form of cancer--in your blood. It's spread all through you, and we're not sure if we can do anything to help. You'll start radiation on the fourth."
"Oh my god--no, you're kidding. This is Jeremy or Jimmy or someone, and you're playing a joke on me. This isn't happening. You're not serious!" Taylor was almost yelling into the phone, clutching it away from her face a couple inches.
"I'm sorry, Taylor--this reaction is natural. We can buy you years, and if we're lucky we can cure it. You'll be very weak, and very tired--your hair shouldn't fall out, though."
Tears streamed down her face. "No. No. This isn't real. This doesn't happen to me. You're kidding, this is a dream. NO!" She screamed, wiping furiously at her tears. She knew it was truth, though, somewhere inside her--but she had no idea how to accept it. The phone fell down as she cradled her head in her hands, crying her heart out.
Taylor was dying.
