Sick Kids

We were all very sick, and we knew it. Some of us stayed in the dark-we didn't want to know whether it was a virus or a mutation. We wanted to ignore it. Our parents decided that our friends weren't enough, though—we needed more support. We needed to connect to more sick kids. More dying ones.

Knowing your death is approaching is depressing, but knowing twenty other people are about to die alongside you is supposed to be comforting. Amazingly enough, it wasn't comforting at all.

Our group of decaying children and teenagers was supposed to go out at least once a week so that we "got out" and "enjoyed life", but it did nothing to boost our morale. Instead, we felt like mutant sheep being paraded around to appease the common folks' curiosity.

After our outing, we usually gathered in a little conference room at the hospital to discuss our lives and comfort each other. It was rarely about comfort or being sick, and more about us acting as normal as possible. We all liked to think we were healthy, sometimes. Playing pretend was always my favorite thing to do as a kid.

During today's little get-together, after we had worn ourselves out playing mini-golf and arcade games, we all gathered in the little room, around a long table, and our guide for the day started our ritual.

It usually consisted of a small welcoming speech, for any new members they had recruited, and then some small encouragements. After the encouragement came the question we were all supposed to ponder and discuss. It was usually something meant to be profound, but often sounded silly.

"Has anyone had a religious experiences lately?" Our guide for the day was too chipper and excited. It was almost as if she had asked a bunch of exhausted four-year-olds if they wanted nap time and expected an enthusiastic response.

Everyone in the group—fifteen of us, total—stared at her with wide, blank eyes. Oh, right. Next to criminals, the terminally ill were quite famous for turning their lives around. A couple of the more bawdy guys laughed and some of the rebellious girls joined in. They would have been better off asking us if we had seen any interesting movies lately.

One guy, a really quiet boy that was always the first to arrive for our weekly outings, raised his hand before speaking up. "Well, I got laid for the first time..."

The boy sitting next to him clapped him on the back, and the teenagers couldn't hold back their fits of giggles. We were nothing like the mature, sober, terminally ill children that we were supposed to be. In fact, we were like average teenagers at that moment, cracking up over an immature joke. It felt good.

Someone else raised their hand, a girl named Lucy who had only been to three or four meetings. Her lip piercing had always intimidated me, so I had never really gotten to know her. "Oh yeah? Well I did it in a field, looking up at the stars, it was sooo—"

She didn't get to finish, though, which was a shame because I was actually enjoying myself. I had disliked the meetings at first; they seemed too suffocating. But now, most of these kids had become my friends. I liked that. There was no drama, just a group of teenagers having fun.

"I think that's enough," the chipper guide said, her face was already strawberry red. "I think we should cut this meeting short... you guys look exhausted." None of us were tired, we were all giggling and making immature hand gestures and whispering to each other about our own "religious experiences", but we didn't gripe about being let go early.

written for eng 205 as a short story. critique would be greatly appreciated. thank you.