This choice: You leave to get some fresh air • Go Back... When death becomes an inevitability, little things like restraint go flying out the window. There was a lot that you wanted to get done, but with so little time, what could you really do? Complaining would do no good, neither would moping and crying over the inevitable. Mother and father, as well intentioned as their emotions were, would be downright stifling to be next to.
Getting away, slowly, was the only logical solution. Slowly, you slipped through the waiting room crowd, including your mother and father, too wrapped in their grief and anger to notice their shrinking son leaving the office, walking outside into the world.
Heading outside, a chill suddenly ran down your spine. The world seemed so big, even from the exit of the doctor's office, but then the millions of things that you had yet to do, the trembling for emotions, most notably the need to get laid, or at least see someone hot before death, took priority. If you're going to die, better to rage, rage against the dying light and try and get something that'll put a smile on your face than to go quietly into the night before vanishing.
It was difficult to tell how short you were getting. Already, clothes that were small on you barely a week ago were starting to get baggy, and spending the last few days of your life in jail wouldn't exactly be fun. This worry preoccupied your mind for a second.
And then it echoed through the air. The sweet sound of women laughing. Several women. Turning, the noticeable footsteps of several girls, passing by the complex the doctor's office was in, were easily noticeable.
So were the fact that most of these teenage girls were wearing miniskirts and your stature now was apparently short enough to give you a great view. And an idea of what to do with your time suddenly popped into your head.  | Members who added to this interactive story also contributed to these: |
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