I always hated hospitals.

They were too clean. Sterile. Unfeeling. Like a robotic, ever present guard, holding you captive. They always pretended you had a choice. As if they would let you leave. As if it wasn’t a prison. At least prisoners get to go outside.

I haven’t left my room in months. They barely let me even get out of bed. Apparently there’s a point you reach where they decide you aren’t healthy enough to use the bathroom anymore. As if my body couldn’t handle it. As if letting my muscles waste away from being stagnant was going to make me stronger. As if the chemo hasn’t already killed every part of me in addition to the cancer.

I listened to the soft beeping of the machines that all held me together. It was constant. Incessant, really. But despite that, it was comforting. Me and my robots, all fighting for nothing.

I was going to die. I knew that. I’ve known for years. Since I was a little girl and they found the first infected cells. It used to be a battle. Now, it was a tragedy.

I was done fighting a long time ago. Even my family was over it. I get one sad visit from my mom every few weeks. All she does is cry. It used to hurt, but now I can’t even sympathize anymore.

I’m the one that’s dying. I’m 17 years old and I’m dying. Not only that, but I was dying alone. No family, no friends, not even a freaking nurse. I guess no one wanted to sit around and watch a kid die.

Just myself and my machines. And the sleep paralysis demon in the corner.

I named him Vincent.

He was always just out of sight, but I could hear him breathing. He watched and waited, always hidden within the shadows. He was watching even now, I could almost see him in my peripherals. A hooded stare here, the swish of his cloak there.

I glanced over at his corner and hesitated. He was there. Still mixing into the shadows, but much more defined than ever before. He was taller than I expected, towering almost to the ceiling.

His cloak was long and dark, mixing with the shadows. I watched him shift, moving closer. His hood was drawn, hiding his face. I felt his eyes on me, boring a hole into me. My attention was drawn by the tall staff he held with a large, curved blade.

“Took you long enough.” I cracked a wry smile as I recognized him.

“I arrive precisely on time.” His voice was low and even, almost sounding bored.

I felt my breath catch as the machines started to go wild. They faded into nothingness as I watched the scythe cleave me apart.

I watched memories of my life speed around me at a rapid pace. Every part of my life was a mistake. I was never meant to be born.

“Are you ready to depart?” Death’s tone didn’t change, still as even and calm as ever, amid the pieces of my memories. He snapped me back to reality.

“Yeah, I guess.” I** **looked back at my body. It looked so frail and small without me in it. A shell of who I used to be.

“I never belonged here anyway.”