I know I’m going to die soon. I heard the nurses talking to my parents when they thought I wouldn’t hear. I like to eavesdrop. I sometimes pretend to be asleep or I stuff pillows under my sheets, so it looks like I’m in it. They must not know ‘cause I know everything they say about me. Everyone here thinks I’m naive because I’m their “youngest patient,” but they’d be surprised to know they’re wrong. I kinda don’t want to tell them because how else will I know anything? My parents don’t like to tell me things. My mom acts like nothing is wrong, and my dad just buys me things without saying a word. But I know they’re worried. I hear my mom sobbing sometimes in the bathroom. Her swollen, red eyes are hard to miss too. I feel like my dad genuinely thinks I don’t notice how forced he acts to be fine, but I notice. I don’t say anything because then I’ll have to console them. It’s not like I mind, but if I tell them I know, things are going to change. I won’t know as much. They’ll become more secretive with their emotions. The doctors tell me I’ll be here for one more week, then I’ll be able to go home. But I know they’re lying. They act like I don’t know what hospice means. I wish I could tell everyone to stop acting, to be real with me. I just want to yell at the top of my lungs, “I know the truth!” It’s like we’re all in a play, acting our parts, and if one person slips up, they’re cut. But I keep silent and proceed to play as the “kid” protagonist on the verge of death.

I heard someone getting yelled at outside my room. They said, “why are you telling her that?” I like to imagine whoever said that was talking about me, that they’re on my side. If my parents were around to hear that, they’d give some excuse about how people change when they’re old. I’d act like that makes sense, then we’d sit in silence while the TV would drown out the awkwardness.

P.S. My mom read my journal. I should’ve known since she was acting weirder than usual. I tried to write when no one was looking, but I guess I wasn’t being sneaky enough. She said she didn’t mean to read it, that she only read the line that I knew I would die and knew they lied about it. She apologized profusely for treating me like I’m clueless. I told her I didn’t care that I was dying, but I hated everyone treating me like I’m not. She told me that would change. I hope she’s right. I asked her to tell me when I was going to die. She cried more. I don’t think she ever answered me, but I can assume it’s soon.

P.P.S. We’re going on a trip together. I told them I wanted to die outside of the hospital or our home, so we’re going to the beach. They said no one goes there because of all the deaths that occured. There’s even police tape still tied around the trees. But I don’t care. Maybe then my legacy will be dying on a forbidden beach. What a story.