Hello everyone! This is my latest story: One Day to Live. Welcome! I've brought back the lead-in to set the mood of the chapter, as you will see. This fic takes place in modern-day Japan, and Ammy and friends are just average high schoolers. There's going to be a whole lotta drama coming up, so prepare yourself. And for those of you familiar with my other story, Return of the Dark Lord . . . Kiyoko's back! You know I just had to; I love her too much to let her go out like that! If you haven't read that one, I suggest you head on over to my profile and read it! It's pretty good, if I do say so myself! Okay, I've went on enough. Enjoy!

Chapter 1: Young and Crazy

"I'm not crazy. Everyone else is, and I'm the only sane person."


Here I am. Just another day in my plain, average, mundane life. I look at myself in the mirror. The silver glass reveals to me a girl with bone-white hair and pale, pale skin. I sigh. Why did I have to be born an albino? Why couldn't I have been normal? The only things dark about me are my eyes—those are as dark as they can get, the blackest of black. Well, I'd better get ready for school . . .

At school . . .


"Hm?" I look around for the source of the voice.

"Here comes the little bundle of energy," comments one of my friends. Of course, that "bundle of energy" couldn't possibly be anyone else but . . .


Yep. Enter Kiyoko, my lively little freshman friend. She's taken to calling me "Snowflake" due to my white hair and pale skin. It's not the first time, though. I've had plenty of nicknames over the years. Snowy . . . Snowball . . . I've even been called "Chalky" once or twice.

"Excuse me! Coming through! Woo-hoo!" she shouts as she pounces her way through the crowd separating us.

"Kiyoko, what are you up to now?" I ask her, genuinely curious. I never know what's going through the girl's mind.

"Nothing. Whoops!" The leaning tower of books she had been carting around topples over, sending countless papers flying. "Oh, there goes my math homework . . . Hyah! Hup! Grr-RAH!" She makes all kinds of strange sounds as she leaps up trying to grab the airborne papers.

One of the guys notices what happened and comes over to try and help. What the . . . ? Oh, no. It's Issun, my old friend, also known as the school playboy. "Hey, there," he says. "Need some help?" Double oh, no. He has his eyes on Kiyoko, and there's that mischievous, perverted glint in those eyes of his. You see, he is infamous around here for flirting with girls . . . and I will not let him anywhere near my friend.

"Um . . . S-Sure," Kiyoko stammers, blushing. Really? She likes him? I pity the poor girl. How did this happen, anyway? Those two have been friends since forever, so what's with the change of heart? I'll tell you what: the magical wonder that is puberty. And hormones.

Issun continues to flirt shamelessly with Kiyoko. I won't even honor his words by repeating them. But enough is enough, I say. I grab one of the books lying around and start whacking him with it.

"You—stop—messing—with—my—friend!" I say between whacks.

"Ow! Okay, okay!" he gives in, the little wimp. I stop beating him for the moment. "Damn, you're crazy, woman."

"What was that?" I raise the book above my head once more.

"Nothing, nothing!" He throws up his hands in surrender.

"That's what I thought."

He sulks away. Kiyoko is safe for the time being. But for some reason, she's not too happy about that. "What did you do that for?" she complains. "I . . . I really like him, you know."

"I know. But you need to get over him. He's no good for you."


"No buts! You're coming with me. Let's go." I grab her wrist and start dragging her away, since she's still shooting wistful looks in Issun's direction.

"Ooh! Where we going?" she asks, distracted. So simple-minded . . . Why can't we all be like that?

"You and me are having a sleepover tonight."

"Yay! How fun!"


At my house, Kiyoko pores over my collection of DVDs. "Hmm . . . Which one are we gonna watch, Snowflake?"

"None of 'em," I say. "The DVD player's busted. No movies for us."

"Really? Let me see it!"

"Go right ahead. It's over there." I gesture in the direction of the DVD player.

"Alright! Let's see here . . ." She begins to play around with the player, pointlessly trying to fix it. To my surprise, the DVD player reacts, whirring and beeping. "Hey! I think I got it!" Another tweak, and with another whir, the DVD player door pops open. Unfortunately, Kiyoko's head was in the way—seeing as she dumbly poked her head in front of it to look at it more closely—and the door bops her on the head, then retreats back inside the DVD player. "OW! Hey, it opened! I'll try it again!" After fiddling with it some more, the door whirs open again—only Kiyoko once again places her head directly in front of it, and once again it hits her on the head and disappears back into the DVD player. "Ow! Aww! Again! I know I can get this! I just know it!"

I roll my eyes. How stubborn can she get? "Hey, Kiyoko, I think it would work better if you moved your head."

"Why would I want to do that?" WHIR! Bonk! "Oww! One more time! I'll get it for sure this time!"

Cue another eye-roll. She's not the sharpest tool in the shed, I can tell you that.



" . . . I have a headache," she says, the most innocent look on her face. She is looking up at me through her lashes with those big eyes, two sparkling amethysts that light up the entire room; her long, slender fingers gently stroking her temples; a somewhat pained look ever so slightly creasing her delicate features. She is so beautiful, I think. Any guy'd be lucky to have her as a girlfriend. Any guy but Issun, that is. I finger my colorless hair, and then look at Kiyoko's lustrous raven-black hair, glimmering in the dim light. Why can't I be like that? She has everything I could ever want . . .

But still I can't help but roll my eyes yet again. Of course she'd have a headache after getting hit in the head multiple times. I feel a smile spread across my lips as I say, "Of course you do. Let's just go to bed, okay?"

She nods, then winces. "Yeah, that sounds good . . . Got any aspirin?"

As we're leaving the room . . .

WHIR! The DVD player door pops open on its own accord.

Kiyoko whirls around, forgetting her headache for the moment. "AHA!" she cries.

WHIR! Back inside it goes.


I just shake my head at her. "You're crazy, Kiyoko," I say.

She gives me a quizzical look. "Huh? I'm not crazy. Everyone else is, and I'm the only sane person."


The next day . . .

Kiyoko's late today. She left earlier this morning, and I haven't seen her since. Where could she be? I hope she hasn't gotten sick or anything.


I turn around and see Kiyoko's car—well, her mom's car anyways. Out hops Kiyoko, but right away I can see that something's amiss. Her bright, luminous eyes are dull today, darkened by some kind of negative emotion. An almost imperceptible frown tugs at her lips. She's not happy, like she usually is.

I run to her, curiosity and worry pulling me to her. "What's wrong, Kiyoko?" I ask.

"Hm?" She turns to look at me. "Oh, it's nothing," she says. She's lying. She won't look me in the eyes, and her tone is unconvincing.

"C'mon, you can tell me, can't you?"

Kiyoko smiles at me. Her smile is genuine, but her eyes are still dark with that emotion I can't quite identify. "Life is too short to worry. So I'm not going to."

So there is something wrong. "Worry about what? Please tell me. I'm going to start worrying if you don't."

I hear her take a deep breath and release it slowly in a weary sigh. Uh-oh. She's going to drop a bombshell on me, I just know it. I start going through the possibilities. She's grounded. She's on drugs. Oh, God. Don't tell me she's pregnant.

"I . . ." Another deep breath. "I . . . I'm . . . I'm dying," she whispers.

With those simple words, my world shatters.

See? What'd I tell ya? Drama! But . . . well . . . *has just read an awesomely written fanfic* I'm feeling kinda lame now. My writing style is nothing compared to theirs . . . What do you think? Would you please put an end to this girl's worries and tell me what you think in a review? That would really help . . . Constructive criticism welcome - I can't become better without your help! Thank you!