Grey

A Story by Prince of None

A short story I wrote because I was bored. It's about death and stuff.

Grey.

That's how he would describe the town of Farmville. He gazed out of the window of his house for hours every day. It's not like he had anything better to do with his time, he thought.

It had been four days since the results had come back positive. At age 15, Deck Garamond had been diagnosed with chronic leukemia, it was far past too late to cure.

"I have no idea how we didn't catch it earlier." The doctors said. Deck had no idea why they cared so much. The cancer had been a godsend, an invitation to the "next life" as his parents always called it. The truth was, Deck had no problem with death. He welcomed the release from the monotony of his grey existence.

Deck had never been suicidal, just not particularly attached to life. He went about his life in a normal fashion, "Just like every other monkey on this planet." as he put it; so when he had received the news, all he could do was grin and chuckle. His parents had thought him insane. The doctors assured them it was "just his way of coping." In reality, it was because he was finally escaping the grey that was his life.

So there he lay, in his bed, day after day. Alternating between staring out of the window and sleeping; always ready for each breath to be his last. In actuality, he had been told that he had two months to live; he simply didn't feel like doing anything except wait for the hooded figure of Death with open arms.

His parents had insisted that he be pulled out of school to “spare him further stress”. He had never had trouble in school. He always did the bare minimum and his teachers had always nagged him about “not performing to his full potential”. He hadn’t ever had friends, simply because he didn’t bother with communicating with anyone else. He thought it a waste of energy, seeing as they would all die.

He weighed everything against the whole of the Universe. By that logic, he had deemed existence to be pointless. All he did was think; day in and day out. He thought about the beginning of the Universe and, more often, the end of it. Occasionally he thought about what happened inbetween these two events.

The door opened and his mother walked in. “How are you doing, honey?” She asked. Deck remained silent. His mother went about the routine: dusting his bedside table, refilling the glass of water that Deck never touched, taking the moldy sandwich and replacing it with a new one. She put her hands on Deck’s cheeks. “Deck, you’re so cold… Are you feeling ok?” She asked. She put a hand on his wrist. “Deck...sweetie...I can’t feel your pulse.”

A look of realization dawned on her face, then the tears came. “I’m s-s-so *hup* sorry, Deck. There *hup* was nothing w-we could d-do.” She sobbed. She ran out of the room, screaming for her husband.

“I wonder when she’ll stop repressing that memory.” Deck thought.