Why are you looking at me like that?

Why are you looking at me with those pitiful eyes, when just yesterday they were sneering at me, wishing I was never born?

It’s not my fault I am sick, you know that. I was always confined to the realm of that stuffy hospital room. No matter how much the nurses tried to cheer the atmosphere, the room would always feel empty and bland, and dull. I couldn’t do it anymore. I couldn’t stand the pain of the injections they struck my arm with and the disgusting soup they fed me. I wanted to eat sweets, but you would never let me, saying that the doctor does not allow me to.

I needed to escape from my prison cell and explore the outside for as long as my legs could hold me. To bask in the warm, springtime sunlight, feeling the gentle breeze on my pale, dull skin. All I wanted was to be like the other kids, to go to school, do homework, have friends, do homework with friends, to live. It’s not fair! Ever since I could remember, all I do remember is this cramped room with nothing remotely entertaining to pass the time other than the books which would be left every once in a while, forgotten, somehow like me.

My condition got worse by the day; I could feel it. The doctor and you also knew what that meant and yet you never asked me if I wanted to stay alive or not. You merely assumed that just because I had been in a way alive and somewhat alert you think you can keep it that way? You are all fools.

Sneaking out of the hospital was easy enough, the tricky part was whether I would last long enough without oxygen. Nonetheless, I persisted in going outside for the last time. I knew the risk I undertook, and I embraced it with all, which had not been destroyed by the drugs they pumped me with. It wasn’t long until they found me right next to the entrance of the nearby park, passed out from exhaustion and lack of oxygen.

I found myself in an even more dire situation than before. The chances of me surviving this stunt were minimal if not non-existent.

And I felt happy. I knew I would finally find closure to my miserable existence. I could finally rest in peace for once.

Two days after my adventure I passed away, smiling, while you wailed in despair, bawling your eyes by my cold, dead body. Trembling and moaning you didn’t leave my side until they took to me to the morgue. Two days later, at the funeral, you kept looking at me with those big, sad, puffy eyes.

Don’t look at me like that.

It wasn’t your fault either. Don’t blame yourself, you couldn’t have known when you gave birth to me.

Look on the bright side:

Now we’re both free.