I Think About the Girl, With the Cancer in her Lungs.

I Think About the Girl, With the Cancer in her Lungs.

A Story by PhillipHamilton

A short story about a roller-coaster accident, five dead humans, and a girl with cancer in her lungs.


               On Wednesday April 26th, 2009, my best friend Andy Backhurst, along with four other strangers, died in a tragic roller-coaster accident. Their car derailed. There was only one survivor.

               It was this little girl with cancer in her lungs.

               She was wearing a pink dress with white polka-dots when she was interviewed on Channel 3 News.

               Her mother did most of the talking.

               She said:

               “My daughter has gone through so much the past three years, battling her cancer, and, I think, that maybe, this is a sign.”

               And the reporter said:

               “What kind of a sign?”

               And the mother started to cry, and she held her daughter close, and she said:

               “A sign from God. I think he’s going to make my daughter okay. We’re going to be okay.”

               The camera pans to the left, and the reporter follows. They cut out the crying mother, and the cancer-filled little girl. They’ve finished caring.

               Back to you, b***h.

               She makes her final statement:

               “The cause of this tragic accident is unknown at this current moment, and we have not heard any information from the police as of yet. We have, however, received a list of the names of the people, who were killed in this tragic accident. Back to you, Doug.”

               The mother cries more, and the report is cut back to the news station. Doug Walters is the host. He bought his shiny new car from my dad, and his shiny new hair from the wig store across the street.

               He sweats, and he says:

               “Thank you, Dianne. A terrible tragedy, with a very adorable silver lining. We’ll be back after this.”

               Fade to black. A Kentucky Fried Chicken ad comes on. At the bottom of the screen scrolls a list of the names of the people who perished in the roller coaster accident.

               It’s fast, but I think I see his name.

               Andrew Backhunt.

                Andrew. Backhunt.

               If Andy Backhurst had have seen that, he would have probably laughed. He always thought it was funny when people got his name wrong. I don’t get why it was such a common occurrence. I think his name was simple. I think it’s the simplest name I can think of.

               Andrew Backhunt.

               Andy Backhurst.

               He hated being called Andrew.

               I kept watching the news that night, because I thought that maybe they would talk about the accident more, and I thought that maybe they would talk about my best friend, Andy.

               I had been crying all night, by the way. If you really needed or wanted that mental image.

               A sixteen year old human male with pimples and glasses and a sweater with a big dog on it (for ironic purposes) huddled up in a little ball in his room in front of a tiny little television, sobbing and not knowing what to do.

               Was I supposed to call someone?

               Talk to someone?

               Was this going to mess me up?

               It wasn’t a time to think about any of that. It was time for me to feel sad, and miss my best friend, and wait for his moment.

I kept watching the news.

And they never talked about Andy.

They never even showed his photograph.

None of those who died got even a second. Nothing beyond a fast-moving name at the bottom of a television screen.

Not the kids. Not the adults. Nobody. As if they were all just dirt now.

And so, the worst thought came to my head:


I wished that the cancer girl had have died in the roller-coaster accident, instead of my best friend.

I wished that she had have been in his place.


I don’t know why I thought that, but I did.

And sometimes, I still think about her.

And I still wish the same thing.


And I think, that maybe that makes me a bad person.

Because I can’t let go of the past.

Or some s**t.





© 2014 PhillipHamilton

Author's Note

I think i should add more detail, personally. This is fairly rough, and I am going to edit it further and add to it. But let me know what you think.

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Shelved in 1 Library
Added on June 24, 2014
Last Updated on June 24, 2014
Tags: cancer, sickness, dark, rollercoaster, ride, story, short story, short, poem, experiment, rough



Seagrave, Ontario, Canada

Hello. I am Phillip Hamilton. I'm eighteen years old from a small town in Ontario. I'm a big fan of all things bizarre and horrific. The darker and stranger the better. I like to write short stories a.. more..