“What are my options?”
The doctor looked down at her chart, which Craig took to be a bad sign. Doctors never wanted to look you in the eye when giving bad news. “Radiation therapy is probably your best option, but honestly, even with radiation your best-case scenario is that it extends your life a few months.”
“Great. Let’s do it.”
“Are you sure? Radiation therapy is not fun. It comes with side effects that, frankly, are often worse than the cancer itself. If you choose hospice, we can -”
“Not an option.”
“I’m sorry?”
“Hospice is not an option. I can’t – I mean, I’m not ready to give up yet. Let’s try the radiation therapy. Please.”
“All right. Then you’ll have to go down to the radiation department to make an appointment.” She started writing something on a pad of paper and Craig waited, thinking about the stories he had heard of people like him who were given months to live, but managed to beat the odds, living years, sometimes even decades past their expected expiration date.
A few days later, Craig clutched the rim of the toilet seat as he barfed his guts up. It was miserable, but it was still better than what he knew was waiting for him.
Having finally emptied his stomach of all its contents, he wiped his mouth, flushed the toilet, and gripped the side of the sink, using it to haul himself up so he could rinse out his mouth. As he got to his feet and his eyes came level with the mirror, he saw them. There were so many that they barely fit in the mirror around his own face.
This time he didn’t flinch, the way he had the first time he saw them. Instead, he looked each one of them in the eye and said, “Not yet.”
The faces grinned back at him. He didn’t see their faces transform from grim to grinning. One moment they were grim, the next they were grinning. It happened seamlessly, and despite Craig’s bravado, the sight sent a shiver down his spine.
The end.