Terminal

• Jaimie Mccarthy, Grade 9
• Short Story
• 2009

He flinched to himself at the sound of shattering glass landing on a hard surface. He watched light glittering off the thousands of tiny shards which had once formed his window.
A wary grin began to spread across his face as he took in the damage he had caused, feeling pleased.
He heard a loud yell and jumped.
“NOAH!” Came the screech from far away. The boy looked warily towards the door, beyond which he heard thundering footsteps advancing. The door flew open. She came in with a look of such fury on her face that he literally recoiled against the wall trying to put as much distance between them as possible.
“WHAT IS GOING ON IN HERE!?” she roared, looking furiously from her faltering son towards the glass below his now empty window frame. “What happened!?” she snarled.
“I...I don’t know.” Noah struggled to keep his voice steady through his fear. The door slammed shut with enough force to knock down the entire house.
The boy sat on his bed and sighed, that excited feeling he had gotten lately from upsetting his mother slowly returning. He didn’t understand exactly what it was that made him want to make her unhappy. Maybe because she had been the one to tell him and make him so unhappy. He knew that it had been one month since that day. The day his life had ended; and that meant only four more. Not that anyone else knew it; not that they ever would.
That thought, that cold hard realisation, was unbearable. He couldn’t think about that. And yet, he could think of nothing else. Then he was crying. It felt as though a wall had broken inside him. The pain was flowing through.
With fresh, warm tears streaming down his cheeks he keeled over onto the ground and bawled. He cried for all the pain that he had tried for so long to hide.
It could have been seconds, or hours. He wasn’t sure, but suddenly he felt two strong arms wrap around him and pull him onto the bed. He collapsed onto his mothers’ shoulder and howled.
“I’m sorry baby, I’m so sorry...” she crooned into his hair, all traces of anger gone. “It's been hard, but there are still four months. We can't give up. We've got to stay strong for Dad.” By now Noah could feel his back dampening. His mum was crying too. He felt that his whole world was crumbling down before him, but he knew that his mother was right. They had to stay strong and not give up. However impossible that might be, because his Dad had never given up on them. Even when he first found out about the tumour last month he had been there to comfort and support Noah and his Mum. Now it's their turn. And even though Noah couldn’t know whether his dad would live or die, at this moment he knew, he would not now, and never would, give up.