*ONESHOT* (Not as cliche as it sounds) Ramona is a teenaged girl with a terminal illness. The Make-A-Wish foundation swoops in, and she finally gets the one thing she wants the most.
Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.
The lovely sound of a hospital monitor. To you, it might get annoying, but to me? Well, let's just say I've gotten used to it. My name's Ramona, and that teenaged girl you see in the starch white bed is yours truly. I'm only sixteen, but I've sat in this bed for an eternity, collecting bodily filth and dying faster than I would if I were happy. I haven't even showered in so long that my once curly brown hair is now greasy, dark and a little stiff to the touch.
I've lost all will of living, really. I mean, my parents already called Make-A-Wish, so I know it's terminal. Other than that though, they've never told me anything about whatever the fuck kind of disease I have.
The nurse knocks on my door, and give her a quick okay to come in.
"Hey, Ramsey! Ready for blood work", she asks in a sicking voice, carrying in her "toolbox". I don't say anything, but I roll up my sleeve. She ties the rubber tourniquet onto my right bicep and smacks softly at the vein in the crease of the arm. As she digs the needle through the flesh, it's like she's not even here doing this. I get this done twice a day, everyday and doesn't hurt anymore. When fills up the six tubes, she leaves and the room goes back to nothingness.
Nothingness. That's a good way to put it. Soon, I'll be waiting for the worms to come chew me up and shit me out. Hell, I'm already dead to everybody I know. Even my mom- that's why she's fighting so hard to keep me alive. Transplants, vitamins, spiritual healing, I even got blessed by a priest once. The funniest part of that bit is that my whole family's Atheist.
My mom bursts through the door with a huge smile that almost looks foreign. "HAPPY BIRTHDAY, RAMONA", she sings. At least one of us is happy about this. I miss eating cake. She hands me a box covered in yellow wrapping paper that has cartoonish eyeballs all over it. I tear through it and find my old stuffed animal, Mr. Pig.
"I figured that since you used to take him everywhere, it would only be natural that he be here." I smile at the found memories and flop back into the mattress. "You remember how your father and I contacted Make-A-Wish awhile back", she asks.
"Well, they pulled enough money together to grant yours in time for your birthday." A wave of confusion hits me. What wish? I never MADE a wish!
Mom smiles. "You know the band My Chemical Romance? You used to like that one song, what was it? Helena, I think." God. I don't like where this is going. I'm gonna have to met celebs. LIKE THIS. I haven't showered in weeks, dude!
"Well, anyway, they've arranged to have you perform with the band in LA." She's so happy right now. I kinda feel bad for hating this "gift".
"Mom... I don't really want to sing Helena", I try to slip in, with agony laced through my voice. Guilt trips ALWAYS work on Mom.
"Oh, it's alright sweetie. You can learn a few songs before then.
I get whisked onto a private jet full of people, swarming around to to my hair and makeup. There's isn't much to do. Through phone calls and videochat, I've worked out with the band that I'm going to look about the same, anyway. However, that doesn't stop all these beauticians from fussing over my appearance.
They actually washed my hair, for once. It feels lovely and smells like strawberries. And it's soft! I'm still on my IV and monitors, and I will be until showtime. I can't waited to get them off! Maybe I could even die of happiness.
The plane lands at the airport, where a white limousine is waiting to take us to the venue. We climb in and depart, going down unfamiliar interstates until we reach the Hollywood Bowl. It's there I discover that I have a rose-filled dressing room all to myself for the next two hours. My mom is off doing God knows what, so I'm alone. Which gives me time for this...
The crowd is screaming while the monitor beeps through the speakers. The gurney begins to move when the nurses grab the sides, and I feel myself shiver with anticipation. I breathe deeply and start to let everything I've felt for the past five years come out.
"Now, come one, come all to this tragic affair..." The crowd goes insane when they hear me singing. I can't tell if it's confusion, outrage, or bliss, but I don't want to think about. This will all be over soon. I sit up and the gurney and press on. "Wipe off that make up what's in is despair..." I let the pain, the hurt, and the anger go in those moments. And even though the screams of thousands of people are deafening, I can't hear anything over my own thoughts.
When Gerard walks out, the crowd gets louder as he sings "if you look in the mirror and don't like what you see..." He comes to help me out of the bed and as the guitar solo kicks in, rips off my hospital gown to reveal a beautiful red dress with black ribbon adorning the bust.. As we continue dancing and singing to the song, I smile to myself because I know what's coming.
As the song switches, I collapse onto the stage floor, hyperventilating. The singer rushes over and the music stops, much to the confusion of the crowd. He calls for more help, but nobody can hear him over the audience.
As I sat in my dressing room, I pulled out a white bottle of pills and swallowed twenty three, enough to make me fall into a sleep-like death. They go down as if I'm swallowing clouds.
"Sing me to sleep, Gerard. It won't take long." As I lay dying in his arms, he begins the first chorus of "Sleep". A few people in the pit start to raise their lighters, and some sing along. At this point, time feels lost and dizzy. Then finally, just as I knew I would be, I'm in darkness.