Everyone always talks about how much they hate hospitals. I used to find them comforting. They make people better, right? Babies are born there, lives are saved, disasters are averted. Now I know better.

That's where people go to die.

---

Mush told us two months ago. He was sick, he'd said.

"Don't puke on me," Jack had joked, moving away. But Mush's eyes were dark and sad, so unlike him.

"I'm really sick, guys," he'd said softly. We'd all sobered, kind of sat up straighter and wondered what was going on.

"Uh…with what?" Snitch finally offered.

"Cancer."

No one moved, no one talked, no one breathed. This isn't real, I remember thinking. I remembered something my dad had said on my eighteenth birthday that year, his eyes wistful and far away.

"When you're eighteen, you're invincible," he'd said.

He was wrong. Nobody is invincible.

"Wha-what do you mean?" Race's voice was shaky. I looked down. So were his hands. Mush smiled sadly.

"I've known for about two weeks. I didn't know how to…" He stopped talking. It wasn't even like he drifted off. He just stopped. For a second, a crazy, irrational fear gripped me. I was afraid he'd died right there in front of us. Everyone was silent.

"So…what…um, what's going to happen?" Skittery ventured. He'd phrased his question very carefully, afraid to ask if Mush was going to die or not. Really, he was afraid of the answer. We all were.

"I decided not to do chemotherapy. The doctor said I've got about a month or two, and I don't want to be miserable. I'll…um, I'll be in pain, but he gave me stuff…"

"You're not even going to try?" David asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

"It's not worth it," Mush said with his eyes down.

"What if it saved you?" David's voice was louder now, angry. "How will you even know?" Crutchy put a hand on David's shoulder, but he shrugged it off. "You're just going to roll over and die?" Angrily, he turned and walked off, leaving us all shocked.

"Dave's, uh, Dave's uncle had cancer," Jack told us gingerly. "He didn't try chemotherapy either. And he…died." The last word was a whisper accompanied by a quick glance to Mush's direction. I felt sweat run down my back. I couldn't stand to look at Mush and notice a few new things about him. Was he skinnier? Were those dark circles under his eyes from staying up late or…something else? Instinctively, my hand went to my mouth and I nervously chewed my thumbnail.

"I'm sorry, guys," Mush whispered. His voice floated on the breeze, so soft I wasn't sure if he'd really spoken. But nothing felt real anymore, not after that.

Tears threatened me as I remembered that day. I was sitting in an uncomfortable plastic chair. David was asleep next to me, Race next to him, Jack next to him, and so on. We took up almost the whole waiting room. Itey lived next door to Mush, so he'd been the first to get the news. He'd called everyone, a quaver in his voice.

"Uh, Blink?" His trembling voice had scared me more than his actual words. We'd all assembled at the hospital for what we'd been told would probably be Mush's last night. Everyone else was asleep. How can you sleep? I wanted to scream. He's dying. Unable to just sit there with my head in my hands any longer, I slipped into Mush's room. Everything was white.

I tried to be silent, but I tripped over a chair leg and went sprawling across the floor. And cursing. Mush's eyes fluttered open, and he smiled when he saw me.

"Hey," he wheezed. His voice made me hurt.

"Hey. Sorry for waking you up," I said contritely.

"It's okay." I slid into a chair next to his bed, and tentatively grabbed his hand. He squeezed mine back, making me happy. I just wished mine wasn't so sweaty.

I tried to think of something to say to him, my best friend, lying in a hospital bed, barely conscious. I didn't want to ask him if he was scared, mostly because I probably wouldn't be able to handle the answer. His eyes were starting to droop, and I knew I should've let him sleep, but…I had a question weighing on me.

"Mush?" I whispered. Slowly, he opened his eyes back up to look at me. Everything was slow now. "Why…why didn't you try chemotherapy?" I bit my lip, wondering if maybe it was a rude question. He sighed.

"Well…I guess maybe…I just decided to take the easy way out." I gaped at him when he said that. I looked around, taking in the antiseptic smell, the white walls, the bed that looked so huge, Mush looking so tiny. He looked so tired, so bone-weary.

"You call this easy?" I asked in a whisper. He smiled sadly.

"Well, it's gonna be a lot tougher on you. After I die, I'm done. You guys are the one's left here, remembering me." Then he laughed. "Well, I hope, anyway."

"How could we ever forget you, Mush?" My voice was starting to wobble, so I cleared my throat and looked away. It was painful to look at him.

Little rivers were running from the corners of his eyes into his hair. He blinked several times, trying to steady himself. I couldn't keep hold of myself anymore. I started bawling like a baby. He was fading before my eyes.

"Blink." His voice was wispy and choked. "Blink, I'm dying."

"I know," I sobbed.

"I'm scared," he admitted. "I'm so scared." I brought his hand to my cheek, and, without thinking, kissed it. He looked a little surprised, but not unpleased.

"What am I supposed to do without you?" I didn't mean to let that come out. It wasn't a question, exactly, so much as a wail. He tightened his grip on my hand.

The door opened, and we noticed but didn't care. It was Mush's mom. She looked haggard, and when she saw us, extra tears welled up in her eyes. Like she wasn't crying already. Behind her was the doctor. For a long moment no one moved. When I looked back to Mush, he'd slipped into unconsciousness.

"Blink, honey, we're going to…end it," Mush's mom said. For a second, I didn't get what she meant. Then, shock and anger rushed through me like poison.

"What!"

"It'll be better that way," she sobbed. "He's in pain, sweetie. It's time for him to go." I shook my head. So many thoughts were swirling through me, I couldn't pin any of them down. I was still holding his hand.

"You can't just kill him," I said harshly. "He's still alive."

"Look at him!" She commanded. I didn't want to, but I did. He was so pale he was almost translucent. Dark circles hid his eyes. He had track marks all over the inside of his wrists from so many injections. Even now, in this half-alive state he was in, he had a pained, troubled expression on his face. He used to sleep peacefully. He used to sing and dance and play and argue and jump and laugh. Now he poked himself with needles, took pills, and slept.

I gave his hand one last squeeze and let go. I bent down and brushed my lips to his—our first and last kiss.

"Bye, Mushy," I whispered into that curly mess he called hair. I left big, sloppy tears, behind, but I let him go.

I couldn't be in the room when they did it. Everyone was awake now, crying and shaking. I couldn't be there. I felt myself running, through the automatic doors, out into the snow. It was dark, and the cold wind tore at my throat and lungs. I relished the pain. The stars twinkled at me, mocking me. Somewhere, I could hear a baby crying. A dog's bark broke the air. I couldn't breathe. I wondered briefly if maybe I died too, I'd be with Mush. But the thought didn't stay there long.

I thought this was the biggest pain a person could feel. Surely, nothing could be more painful than this, I told myself. But I remembered Mush's beautiful dark face, clenched tight in pain. I remembered his gasping, short breaths, his breathless voice, his cries at night when he thought no one could hear him.

Maybe in a few years, I'd be able to accept that he'd had to go. Maybe in a few years, it wouldn't hurt so badly. Maybe…maybe a lot of things.

But right then, I dropped to the sidewalk, curled into a ball, and let the tears drip down my face. I didn't care if I froze to death or caught pneumonia. I needed to get these tears, these feelings out. Then, maybe, someday,I could heal.

---

A/N: So, I have no idea where this came from. But it was there, and it wouldn't go away, so…there you go.