It's sadder if you imagine a loved one. 

"You have a day to live." the doctor says. She stares down at me with cold,   dark eyes. "24 hours. Your heart is failing. One of your kidneys has stopped working. In 24 hours you will die of multiple-organ failure." she pauses. "You can either come here before time so we can put you to sleep with an anesthetic or you can die in pain. I recommend being anesthetized, but it is up to you. I suggest you go home and say your goodbyes."

The cold water coursing through my veins freezes into ice. I can hear nothing but a painfully high whine. Despite all this talk of multiple-organ failure, I can feel no pain. 

"You can go now. You can also choose to take the anesthetic right now, or spend your day in this hospital. It is up to you. I will give you time to decide."

Why is she so cold? 

I cannot say anything. I am shivering so violently that I can't feel my toes, and all I want is someone to hold me; make me stop shaking. But the icy doctor walks out, her pristine white coat flapping behind her. 

I stand on numb legs and follow her out. The elevator is at the end of the hallway, and the doors are just closing shut.

I cannot stay in this hospital for one second more. 

I want to go home. 

I slide into the elevator just before the doors slide shut. 

There are two other people; one in a wheelchair and the other behind it. They ignore me; and I ignore them.

I walk home.

Home is fifteen minutes away, and I have reached before I know it. It is still early enough for me to get ready and head to school so I walk straight to my bathroom, just as my mother clicks the lights on in the kitchen. 

Hot water streams down my back. 

I put on the familiar grey and white uniform and head downstairs, drying my hair. My mother is setting the table; my brother and father bite into orange-marmalade toast and gulp down coffee. I sit down at the table, pull a plate over to my side and spread a toast with butter. 

"Did you take your project, honey?" my mother asks, cutting the papaya into slices. 

"I don't have a proj-" I say, but my brother cuts in. 

"Yes, I did," he says. She wasn't asking me. 

"Mother," I say, but even I can't hear myself. "I'm dying. I have 24 hours left."

She doesn't look up. Instead, her face twists into a mask of disgust. 

"This papaya has worms in it!" she shrieks, flinging the knife away. 

"Throw it out." my father says. "No need for so much drama."

She sighs and wraps it up in newspaper before dropping it into the trash. 

My brother glances at the clock and gasps. "I'm five minutes late!" he exclaims and grabs his bag. 

I ignore the tightness in my throat. I pretend my heart is still unbroken. I pull my bag onto my back and follow him out. He turned eighteen four months ago and so we now go to school in his car. I slip my earphones in so I don't have to listen to the obnoxiously loud rock music he plays. As usual, he doesn't say a word to me. I don't say a word to him.

It hurts.

The silence never affected me before. I'd mouth along to the lyrics of the song playing in my ears and ignore the fact that we didn't have a word to say to each other.

But now the silence bears down on me like a cape of the pain I've forgotten to feel. Now I want to talk to him; I want to tell him how scared I am; how afraid I am of going away without a trace.

He pulls up into the school parking lot and slides out. I get out of the car and watch as he spots one of his similarly popular and beautiful friends, waves and jogs to them. 

It never bothered me before.

Now it does. Now it occurs to me that there will be nobody to cry for me when I'm gone. I head inside the building, earplugs still playing music in my ears. My first class is Biology, and I am too late for homeroom, so I head straight for the bio classroom at the end of Corridor 2. My science teacher is already there. She doesn't look up when I enter. 

I take my seat and pull out the worksheets she'd given for homework. 

Two minutes pass, and people start filling up. 

"Settle down, kids!" the teacher says, and the class quietens down. She pulls her textbooks out and class begins. 

I don't pay attention. 

Why should I?

Class is over.

Why is the day passing by so fast?

The world outside is bright. Sunshine and blue skies. 

People loiter about, laughing and taking photos of each other in the good lighting. 

My next class is Chem, but I cannot sit through another hour of textbooks. I sit down in front of my locker, knees pulled to my chest. People pass me.  Some pause to take books from their lockers. 

Maybe I've become a ghost already.

I try grabbing someone's ankle. Hoping, praying they'll notice the tears hidden behind black eyes; the failing heart and useless memories and the waste of space I am. They look down, irritated, and walk on. 

I give up. 

I walk into chem class halfway through the hour and sit through the rest of my classes. 

Again, I walk back home with music playing through my trusty earplugs. 

Mother is sitting in the living room, in front of the television. She's watching the show she watches everyday at this time. 

"Mother," I say. "Are you listening?" 

something funny happens on TV and she bursts out laughing, slapping the sofa like she always does. 

"Mother?" I repeat. "Ma, please, j-just-listen-" my voice cracks. My heart shrinks.

The first spear of pain stabs me right then. My vision goes white; my head spins. 

"I-" my mouth is frozen. "Ma-"

I had 24 hours.

I had 24 hours. 

24 hours.

It is still 4 o'clock. My brother is still at school; my father is still at office; my mother is still watching her show. I am still invisible.

Everything is as it always has been.

My vision darkens and the pain fades into nothing.

Am I dying?

Am I dead?

Or was I never really alive?

"Sweetheart, wake up. You're having a bad dream, baby." warm hands on my face. "It's okay. It's alright." the taste of tears; blood; sweat. 

"It was just a dream."

Angst is all I can write these days haha

Whom did you imagine?

P.S This was an actual nightmare I had one horrible night.