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This diary entry is written by catnuss_everlark. ( View all entries )
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The EndCategory: fanfiction
Saturday, 1 December 2012
05:58:28 PM (GMT)
TFIOS (The Faults in our Stars) Fanfiction
(What happens between the deaths of Gus and Hazel, a true finishing. [Hazel was upset
that her favourite author didn't finish his book- the book didn't feel finished to me
so i finished it])

"Hazel Grace." His shining blue eyes swim above my face, his sweet voice murmuring in
my ear after so long. For a moment I allow myself to escape to this fantasy world of
long ago, when everything was perfect and cancer didn't get in the way of anything. I
reach out to him in desperation, my heart plummeting into that endless black hole of
despair as my fingers grasp at empty air. I force my tired eyes to open and haul
myself to a sitting position against my pillows, wiping my damp eyes and catching my
breath. My mum sleeps on the bed beside me, her usually stressed face peaceful as she

They never leave me alone now, not even for one minute. I don't blame them. I'd want
to be there for my kid in her dying moments too. The BiPap forces my lungs to inflate
themselves, sending stabbing pain through my chest and then the rest of my body too.
A sickly brown liquid drips down the tube from my side into a container on the floor
beside my bed. Cancer fluid, constantly building up in my lungs and drowning me from

The door to my room swung open and my dad stepped in, a mug of coffee clutched in his
pale and shaky hands. "Hey sweetheart. Not tired?"

"Stupid question." I mumble through the BiPap mask as I pat the other side of my bed,
motioning for him to join me. Despite the pain and the inevitable knowledge that this
would all be over soon, I couldn't help but feel that this was a perfect moment. My
dad sitting on my right- my drainage tube carefully draped over his legs- and my mum
lying asleep on my right. I pull the BiPap from my face, my bony fingers stumbling
over the fiddly straps.

"Hazel… what are you doing?" Regardless of how stupid my actions are, he helps me
remove the mask and place it on my chest.

"I just… wanted to… smell it…" My lungs ache, my limbs throb immediately from
the sudden decrease in available oxygen. I can practically feel the tiny tumours in
my lungs branching out their evil tendrils and taking more of me away, destroying me
slowly and painfully. The scent of his coffee fills my nose and my body shudders with
nostalgia. Black coffee, his smell. Just breathing this in now hurts more than the
cancer ever has- the realisation that this could be one of the very last times I
smell this.

Because you see, I've had enough. After Augustus died, I was okay for a couple of
months. And then I went for a PET scan and the thing I'd been suspecting since
Amsterdam was confirmed: the Philanxifor had stopped working. I had two choices- to
undergo countless sessions of chemo orto let it take me. Seeing as I didn't
particularly fancy spending the next several weeks drugged up to my eyeballs and
constantly throwing up, putting on weight and losing my hair and basically just
making my death even slower and more painful… I chose to die.

They offered to let me go to a hospice. To die respectfully in a really nice place.
My parents were naturally sad about my decision to give up my fight- but hopefully
glad that this torture would finally be over, for me and for them. They understood
though, my wish to die at home. We stopped the Philanxifor, the chemo and all the
other cancer drugs. Just painkillers, my BiPap and the drainage line from now on

It doesn't scare me- death. Augustus stared it in the eye- he embraced it- and so
shall I. I shall walk into death's open arms and welcome it with a smile. If I am in
the minority who die, then my spot amongst the majority who survive is given to
someone else. Somebody else gets to live, gets to fight this thing and actually make
it out alive at the end of it.

Dad helps me get the mask back on. It isn't until it's fixed securely over my mouth
that I realise just how out of breath I get without it- how oxygen starved my body
becomes in just a minute or two without being constantly forced to breathe. Mum stirs
next to me and opens her eyes wide, flipping over to stare at me and make sure that
I'm still here. It takes all my resolve to smile at her reassuringly, to ignore the
pain as she wraps her arms around me and pulls me into her body. She smells like
sleep and seems unable to stop the sighs and moans that escape her mouth as she
traces the outlines of my bones with her fingers.

The hardest part of this isn't the realisation that in a week's time I'll be gone.
It's the realisation that wherever I end up, my parents won't be there with me. To
stay by my side and hold my hand and let me know that everything will be okay. I was
born to die. They were born to live.

When you're dreading something, Time tends to do this really awful thing of speeding
up exponentially, so that the closer you get to this thing the faster time seems to

When Doctor Maria told me I'd have about a month left without further treatment, it
seemed like a long time. Now that month is almost up, and I've finally learnt the
value of time. Mum and Dad constantly sit by my side, holding my hands and reassuring
me that it's okay to let go.

But still I hold on. I can't tell if it's something to do with the BiPap constantly
forcing oxygen into my lungs or if there's something deep inside me still clinging to
that last shred of life. I will it to let go. Augustus wills it to let go, to release
me into his waiting arms. He's right there, always just out of sight and always
watching me. His icy hand strokes my sweaty forehead as that thing inside me battles
it out with my willingness to die.

My dad kisses me gently on the cheek. His tears drip into my skin and his stubble
tickles me but I don't mind. My mum clutches my hand in hers and runs her fingers
through my hair. Gradually the feelings fade, their voices slowly quieten until I
hear nothing at all. And then my lungs start to burn. They ache and fiery tendrils
rip my chest apart from the inside. My heart pounds against my chest, getting in as
many beats as it can before it has to give up. I struggle to catch a breath but it's
not coming- nothing will work. And then I realise that it's finally here.

The end.


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