Termination.

• Alexandra Foley, Grade 12
• Short Story
• 2008

It starts with a sneeze. Taken by his suitably concerned mother to the doctor, the boy is diagnosed with a terrible allergy. He is allergic to life, prone to irritation and hives simply by living; and unfortunately, the case is terminal. What to do? Sad to say, the young gentleman in question is not even a fine upstanding citizen; not even someone who deserves such a distinguished and tragic end. Our young lad is lazy, listless, uncouth. He is more inclined to loll in bed than to face the day; suited better to killing (virtually, of course) than to enjoying a good piece of imported literature.

At the scene of the initial discovery, Mother Dearest gives a theatrical sniffle, and gravely thanks the noble physician for bringing this ailment to their attention. The boy is equally prone to posturing, but slightly more apathetic; why should it matter if one dies a wee bit early? It'll happen anyway, so...whatever.

And how predictable his bravado is - the catchcry of the generation! Applicable not only to one's mortality, but also to the dishes, the demise of a friendship – the possibilities are endless. In this state of mind our young friend counts the days down until his imminent demise. And yet...and yet, could it be? Is there, in fact, a gradual but steady change of heart? Indeed there is. A fortnight to go...tick tock... and suddenly the oft-trampled tulip of Father's garden is beautiful; plunging into icy cold water so refreshing it makes one yearn to do it over and over again, merely to be pained, then relieved.

Walking with a 'bud' one day: 'I'm kind of going to miss this.'
'Miss what?'
A useless, all-encompassing gesture. 'This. Everything. It's not that special when you live in it, with it, all the time. But I guess...you know...I'm just not going to be living in it anymore.'
Astute observation: nothing is more awkward than mentioning, outright, the white elephant. The 'homie', at a loss for words (perhaps even thought?) remains silent.

That is as close as our boy gets to a realisation of the sanctity of life, the privilege comprised of accommodating flesh and muscle and grass and breathing in popcorny smells and iceskating and trampolines and reading and singing and kissing and dozing.

Most upsettingly for this wayward hero, it comes too late. Ultimately, he came to appreciate his place in the world; and for him, it was have been a pointless discovery. However, one can yet take comfort that every other one of his 'too cool' peers took it to heart