β¦ THOMAS WEATHERALL, CIS MAN, HE-THEYβ¦ CHRISTOPHER βKITβ BLACKTHORN the TWENTY-FIVE year old has been in Hidehill for HIS ENTIRE LIFE and was a FORMER STUDENTS to Miyeon Kang, the murder victim. Whispers on the streets are that the WRITER who lives in HARLOW ESTATES are said to be FLIRTY and SARCASTIC but I guess weβll find out for ourselves.
tw medical, death
Life can be pretty fucking shitty, and that all rings especially true when youβre young and think of nothing but the future, of growing up, never truly appreciating the time of your youth. Kit had learned this lesson early on, a child of the system, the byproduct of high school sweetheart love, two so enamored yet unprepared for the harsh reality of the world, so that baby that came out of spurious love would never know his parents, or at the very least those he shared DNA with. Not that it mattered as he never really lived in the system for long as some hopeful couple had wanted a baby for so long, but they just didnβt have any luck, so in some ways Kit was their miracle child. Besides the somewhat cautionary tale that was his birth, life was pretty normal for him, he was good in school, was an honor roll student all the way up until senior year when he was ready to venture out into the world and become a professional. At least, that was the plan, thatβs what most young adults did once their high school career was over, go into higher education, get a degree, and make a career out of it. But on a night out with friends, one of the many that heβd come to know a night that was supposed to be like any other, his world turned upside down. Kit had passed out during one of the schoolβs football games, walking into the parking lot with his friends as they all celebrated the victory, he collapsed as he fell to catch up to them, and that was all he could recall as the darkness that was trying to invade from his peripheral took over.
The diagnosis was adenocarcinoma, and the fainting spell was brought on due to dehydration probably from the upchucking that he had done at home prior, thinking it mustβve been the corn dog he had ate that just didnβt sit with right him. They told him and his family about the available procedures and all that they could offer, and Kit couldnβt think, he couldnβt say a single word, all he could do was sit there and listen as the fear hit him like a truck. It dashed all his hopes and dreams of the future, as it looked grim, but he was up for the fight, as they call it. As if this thing was just another type of battlefield that he was wholly unprepared for, but he wanted to live, so what other choices were there? After a year in treatment, things started to take a turn for the worse, the doctors were giving up hope, and the look on his parents face as they tried to assuage the news didnβt help. Kit was left in that hospital bed looking at all the stories from his friends, moving on with their lives, going off into college, and he was just stagnant, deteriorating, as if his own body was waging a war with itself. After being told he only had maybe less than a year, he decided to spend his few remaining days in a place he had found online. A place that housed kids like him, kids who were terminal and wanted a better way to spend the rest of their remaining days. So as his bags were packed, he ventured off to what might be Β Β Β the best time in his life.
It felt like Hospice, except all the inhabitants were young, about his age, just young adults that for better or worse, lived their life as best as they could within this abode. He settled in quickly, made friends with the other kids and found in them a second family. They would all do everything together, theyβd all tell the wildest stories that they could come up with, say what they would do if they ever got out that place. Theyβd steal alcohol, drink together, find themselves in the woods making a little bonfire, and Kit figured that it might not be so bad to go if you were surrounded by people who truly loved and cherished you, and knew exactly what you were going through. Kit met a boy, and their feelings for each other sparked quickly, it was beautiful and wild and real, and all the thingsβ people wish for, so he thought of himself as lucky in that aspect. That he got to experience what felt like love, real love, at least if only even for a little while. They promised theyβd marry if they ever got out, but as the story goes, the good times canβt last. It shouldβve been obvious given all their circumstances, but it still hurt, hurt like hell to know that seat at the table would never be filled by that person ever again. Here, he began to write, began to immortalize the people he loved in his stories, gave them all the grandeur and fantasy that they deserved. In his stories they got to live, carry out their lives, he gave them adventures, romance, every other amazing thing he could think of that he knew theyβd enjoy. Little by little all these stories became a book, the first of many that he would never publish, at least, he didnβt think about it at first, didnβt think heβd ever get to see his work out there in the world. These were just stories he made for his friends, of his friends, and ones that he would keep for lifeβ¦or at least until his time. Kit experience heartache many other times, as a lot of the faces he knew and loved had vanished, and their big group had dwindled, but even so they never truly left, not while there were pages and lips that said their names.
Then another miracle happened, the miracle baby of his parents got one for himself, new results that said he wasnβt terminal, and that while not fully recovered it meant he could put his life back on track. He was happy, sad, guilty, angry, confused, so many things all at once becauseβ¦why him? Survivorβs guilt is common, and he knew that, be he didnβt know how visceral it would truly be until he was one himself, a survivor. After he left, he promised to himself to keep them all alive, and he did, his book got published and a bestselling author he became. That one book spawned an entire series, and he had made his friends ever living in those pages that millions of others now read, they fell in love with the same people he did, but they would never truly know how amazing each of them were, not like he did. Now he lives comfortably, playing the same video games one of his friends wouldβve raved about, as if he had had kept something each of them loved and carried it with him forever, or as long as that could be. Still, he doesnβt know if heβll ever find love, or a love as beautiful as his first, survivorβs guilt is a bitch, but itβs the bitch that he carries deep within his heart, and he doesnβt know if thereβs anybody who could mend it, those battle scars.
