A Harsh Word, A Harsh Reality
I genuinely haven’t had anything happen to me. I haven’t lost a pet, been caught up in a fight that had nothing to do with me, felt the panic of being peer-pressured into doing anything beyond my will. I am a strong believer in the saying “it only happens to other people,” that you only see these incidents in films not real life. Well, that was until the summer of two thousand and seven.
Apparently in the next fifty years over five million people in Britain with have cancer of have suffered from it. My great uncle had already felt this feeling. I personally felt like I was falling, falling like an old tree in a storm. I couldn’t in my wildest of dreams ever begin to imagine what he was going through. A permeable feeling of disbelief and anger penetrated my body. Paralysed by the fear of the thought of never seeing my uncle that nurtured me from such a young age in no longer than ssix months taught me that life is to short and to fur fill it you really have to make the most of it as you never know what is round the corner. Although people always say lifes to short I never really thought about it until that moment when my parents sat me down on our old, white, crumpled leather sofa and shattered my heart like glass falling from the highest heights of a sky scraper in the centre of Manhattan.
I don’t remember many memories from my early childhood but every single one where my great Uncle was involved with sticks to each and every cell in my body.
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