Death: Better Luck Next Time.

If today I was told that I have only a few months to live; I would probably prayed hard for a time machine. Sigh. What is the point of putting an absurd idea in my to do list? The idea of joining the cast of Sliders (if it had not been cancelled) sounded like a dream. On the other hand, I can always opt for being an extra or work as a crew in the Supernatural set. Then I can make flirty eye contacts with Jensen Ackles or Jared Padelecki or both.

The piece of paper with terms I could never understand diagnosed me with…cancer. I know, I know. Everyone is going to say, oh you poor thing. Be strong. Yadda, yadda. Blablabla. And I will smile bitterly and nod my head politely.

I studied the piece of paper that sentenced me to an early pass to the other side. The good looking doctor (well I deserved to see the beautiful creatures of the planet if I were to have this so-called ticking time bomb in my body) explained to me like I was a five year old, “Miss, I’m sorry to say you have only three months to live. Cancer is a very dangerous illness. You will die.”

I sat there staring at him and blinked. Once. Twice. All emotions had been wiped clean from my face.

“I will die? Okay,” I said and he seemed taken aback with my reaction.

“There is no chance of surgery. Your cancer is in the final stage. I’m really sorry.”

“What for? It’s not as if you cut me up and placed a death sentence inside me.”

“I’m glad you are being optimistic. Don’t worry. Modern medicine will help ease the pain. Chemotherapy and drugs will smooth the way-”

“To my demise? Thank you doctor. That makes me feel so happy. Now may I go? I want to bath in the sunshine and skip all the way home. Just like Dorothy in the Wizard of Oz.”

The stunned doctor just stared at me as I walked out of the hospital. That was about a month ago. I have not told anyone. Selfish me.

I can feel the cancer slowly eating me up. Some of my friends were noticing my weight loss. I just winked (okay, that was cheesy) and told them about my new diet. Seriously, I have lost my appetite long before I went for the check-up. My body was telling me something was wrong but I guessed I listened to late.

Tsk tsk tsk. The drama is making me more tired. I haven’t even finished half of the to-do list. Oh looky here, number thirty: get into the World Guinness Book of Records as the talented juggler who can balance on a thin wire while cycling a unicycle. Err, perhaps I should make it more realistic.

Moving on to the next agenda, writing a will or a farewell letter. I hate goodbye’s especially sad and depressing goodbyes.

If I could have a conversation with death, it will go like this:

Death: I’ve come to take you.

Me: Can I have a few more minutes?

Death: Look, I have a tight ship to run here. All departure must be on time.

Me: Can’t I at least savour the last refreshing breath and soaked in the scenery?

Death: Nope. Better luck next time.

Me: There won’t be a next time!

Death: Precisely. Come.

That would be funny right? Hilarious. Yeah, yeah. I have a weird sense of comic timing. Big deal. After I die, no one will remember.

“Hey, you.” A shadow appeared behind me.

“Stop sneaking up on me like that.”

“What are you doing?”

“Nothing. Just writing my memoir.”

“What for? You are not even famous.”

“I’m dying.”

“Hahaha. That’s a new one.”

I looked at the person in front of me and remembered that today will be exactly three months since I got the diagnose about my illness. I cursed out loud.

“I am dead, aren’t I?”

“Yes. Move aside. I need to use the computer.”

“Wait. Why am I still here? When did I die?”

“Two months ago. And you are haunting my apartment. Move.”

“Why aren’t you scared? Why am I haunting you?”

“Because I worked at the Supernatural set. Remember the face?” The mortal made a circle around his face.

“Jensen Ackles?”

The End.