A Story.


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This is just an essay thingy that I had to write for school....opinions wanted. (Note: Based on a true story)

Like a fire in an oxygen-depleted room, my life has been smothered by pain and torment for the past five years. It all started the day after my birthday in sixth grade; the day I started living Hell on Earth. It was the day that marked a friendship that came to an abrupt end?and the day that a new era of my life begun.

I used to take friendship for granted. I was young, insolent, and didn?t give a damn about the rest of the world. I had my circle of friends. I was happy until that day. It was my birthday, and I was indulging the joys of becoming a preteen at last. I had been in the world for 12 years. Life couldn?t have been better.

However, bad news came to me the following day. As I returned home from school, I told my mother that my best friend, John, was out sick. I thought it was strange; he had just been at my birthday party the day before. How could he be sick? I didn?t know, but she did. My mother, a worried look in her eyes, sat down beside me to speak the words that I had dreaded to hear ? John was in the hospital. He had fallen into a coma, but the doctors didn?t know what was wrong. I didn?t know the truth about what was happening. Nobody could ease the pain. Nothing in the world was capable of stopping the agony.

But I continued my life, hiding from reality. I acted as if nothing had happened, as if everything was perfect. It wasn?t. My grades began to drop and I lost interest in everything I had enjoyed before. Nobody worried about me. Not my friends, not even my parents. They refused to listen to me, and it left a scar on my soul that to this day has not healed with time.

Days passed with no real news about John. All we knew was that he was in a coma still, and his body temperature was a scorching 107?. I kept going about my life, avoiding my parents and avoiding any talk about John unless it was an update on his status. His health was my health. I would not be better until he was; I would not be myself until he was in good health again.

School was nearly finished. The last few days were dreadful; John would have to make up most of his classes during summer school that year in order to avoid repeating them the following school year. But he managed to get by without it.

The last day of school was filled with joy, peace, and fun. At least for the average kid it was. Choir and Band had a field trip to Six Flags that day. I was in choir, but I opted to miss the field trip ? I went with Caleb, my friend who had moved away to Illinois, to visit John in the hospital. It was the best decision I?ve ever made.

Caleb and I walked into the hospital. It reeked of the distinct smell hospitals have, like the smell of old people. We approached the desk and the lady working there asked how she could help us. I was unable to speak the words I wanted to say; my heart was racing with fear and anticipation to see John again after nearly six weeks. Caleb, his voice quivering, asked which room John was in; the lady pointed us in the right direction. John?s parents greeted us outside his room and we exchanged hugs. Both of them seemed worried, a look of sorrow in their eyes. Yet, at the same time, they were thankful to see us.

We approached John?s room. It was closed. Caleb and I entered the room together, but separate from our parents. It was our time with John, and our time alone. I approached John?s bed - he was still. I started crying, and Caleb and I prayed. But John silently lay there unable to speak or see what we were doing. Tears poured out and I cried like I had never cried before. At last, I hugged John before my parents came in.

?John?. I love you, and I will miss you.? As I spoke the words, John started to cry. . Deep inside, I knew he could hear us. Those tears running down his pale, swollen face were not tears of pain or sorrow. They were tears of joy. No medical excuse could explain what happened. John, although still unconscious, was touched by God. He let John talk to us, not by speaking words, but by shedding tears.

Alas, we exited his room, leaving him alone once more. As the adults talked of John and his friends, Caleb and I sat down in the hallway, the cold tiles becoming warm from the heat of our shaking bodies.

Days passed without news. Three days after Caleb and I had visited John, however, my telephone rang. It was John?s mom on the other end, wanting to speak to my mom. I could tell she had been crying earlier, her voice was uneasy and the faint sniffling of her nose could be heard. I left the room and let them talk; if any bad news were to present itself, which I could assume it would, I did not want to hear it right away. I wasn?t ready.

?Dave,? my mom started. But I cut her off.

?I don?t want to hear it!! NOT NOW!!? I yelled, interrupting the news that I wanted to drown out.

?John did not die, honey?but there is something you need to know.?

?What is it?? I asked, regretting yelling at her earlier.

?The doctors went in and did some exploratory surgery, to see what was wrong inside of John again. When they cut him open, there was nothing there?. no guts. They think that his white blood cells attacked his own body, killing him, but they?re not sure??

My knees gave way and I collapsed onto my mother?s bed, the soft mattress catching my limp body. I didn?t believe what I had just heard. I just wanted to get away from it all, get away from the pain.

I called Dan Otto, a good friend of mine at the time and also a good friend of Johns. I didn?t want to invite myself over to his house, but I did anyways. I asked my parents for a ride, and I guess they understood how I felt ? I needed to be with a friend who I could talk to, so they let me go over there for the night. It was Saturday, and school was all ready finished ? I went over to his house early in the afternoon and was planning to stay until late afternoon the following day.

But I didn?t say the night. 4:43 rolled around and the doorbell at Otto?s house rang. Dan?s mom answered the door, as Dan and I looked from the top of his stairs to see who it was. As soon as I realized it was my mother with a tissue in her hand and the tears running down her face, I knew why she had come here. John had died less than an hour ago.

I didn?t have the strength to cry anymore. I didn?t have the tears to cry. Six weeks before, a young, healthy, fun kid named John was swimming and laughing with me. And now, today, he lies in a hospital bed, lifeless. How could this happen?

I gave my mom a hug. I didn?t feel as if I needed it, but I knew that she needed it. The tears rolling down her face got the shoulder of my shirt wet, which gave us something to laugh about to break the uncomfortable sound of my mothers whimpering. It was time for me to go home. It was time for John to go Home.

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Well, for English class we needed to write a Personal Experience Essay. No real requirements, except it had to be true and had to have some significance on your life.

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