The morning was bright, the golden rays of the sun basked the bare room which contained a small linen bed. The consistent sound of beeping was all that was heard in the plain room, sometimes mixed with the soft sound of breathing along with the occasional drip of morphine in a small, plastic pouch. There wasn’t much to the lonely room, yet something about its atmosphere was slightly different to the other rooms besides it.
All because of one small girl. Lying soundlessly on the bed. Her body was still. Face pale as moonstone. Lips in a frown, pinched with pain. Breathing tube in her nose. She was like all the other patients in the rooms beside her’s, cold and dead-looking.
A phantom of the girl she used to be. The girl who could run as fast as the wind, the girl who could coax laughter out of even the most serious of adults, the girl who enjoyed life so thoroughly. The girl who expected so much of her life, while others had seen so much potential. So much beauty and life and joy. The child who could climb the tallest trees, do the daringest of dares, challenged the definition of impossible, lived the fullest. She was the girl who always stood out, crazy yet wonderful, lovely yet sly, courageous but also timid at times. She was a girl with so many personalities, so many feelings. She was a girl who could be funny without ever being mean. A girl who could just sit completely still yet impossible to look away from. A girl who could tell the same stories over and over again, but never getting boring. This girl was the exact image of life.
But that was before she got sick. Before she almost died.
Sometimes she wishes she were dead.
But then she began to stir. First, her eyelids twitched. Then her lips. Her eyes slowly opened, unfocused as if she had just woken from a deep slumber. Her eyes shone as brightly as fresh cut emerald. Her hair the shade of crisp, fall leaves, but under the rays of the sun, it turned into a shimmering gold. Her lips were a shade of soft pink, rounded just so. With hair draped over her shoulders, deep green eyes blinking, she was truly a very peculiar girl. Different, yet beautiful.
She struggled to get herself into a sitting position, then gave up a few moments later, falling back with a defeated sigh. She looked at the window, towards the wonders outside. Her eyes were filled with a deep longing and anguish and it was a wonder no tears formed.
She turned her head away from the window, her shoulders shaking as she stared at the blank white walls. She felt so lonely, so sad. She thought life was so unfair, for it was she who had to lay in this white bed-which would probably be her death bed. She wished she could be healthy, like the rest of the world. She wished she could be happy and play on the streets like all the children.
But she can’t, because the doctors won’t let her. She can’t, because her body refuses to let her even sit up. She can’t, because the world was against her.
She hated it deeply and truly for it was so unfair.

The little girl, Emerald Autumn Smith, buried her face into her pillow that night, the only thing she could do to hide her pain and sadness, for she couldn’t even curl up or squeeze her pillow. She eventually doze off after some time, tears streaking down her cheeks.
But tonight she removed the pillow from her face, and found courage to look out that hated window. She noticed the moon was round and full, a glowing orb in the night sky. She could just make out some people on the streets, laughing. Again, she felt a stab of sadness, but she did not turn away. She looked at the stars, barely making out the constellation Scorpion, and a strange joy lit up inside her. Scorpion always showed itself in the cold, winter nights, and it would vanish in the summer, and all the noisy chatter children would replace it.
She hated summer, the time where everybody was out and playing games. Where everybody was having the time of their life, when all poor Emerald could do is watch, but was never allowed to join them. She envied how they can run and jump, kick and throw, things she could never do. She envied how they could go to school and date, when she would never be allowed to leave her room. She envied how they had friends and could see their family everyday, when she hadn’t see hers in over a week.
Seeing Scorpion in the night skies always caused Emerald to feel sharp stabs of pain in her heat, as if Scorpion itself was stinging her. It often reminded her of the summer days, but Scorpion was there at the times where she suffered least, reminding her while it was there, it would keep summer away for a little longer. Scorpion was her best friend, even though she only saw him half the year, she had convinced herself that Scorpion, with his sharp stinger, was the one who had chased away summer.
She imagined the galiant way Scorpion would do it. Fighting, trashing, struggling, but always coming on top. With stinger raised high and eyes bright, he was truly a champion. The one and only champion in little Emerald’s heart.
The only creature that fought off the hatred inside her, the only creature that was more poisonous than the darkness within.

After a long while, the darkness faded, and she learned to be content with the things she was given, especially the companionship of her loved ones. Her old friends and parents often stopped by, when the nurses let them in, of course. But now, she was allowed no visitors, because doctors were too worried that she would die. And in her bones, she knew they were right. She filled mind with wonders, in which she learned a valuable lesson.
Oh the wonderful adventure Emerald had! She imagined dancing and frollicking in a field filled with wild flowers, the colors bright and vibrant. She imagined being a bird, flying high above the world, gazing at all its wonders. She imagined being a princess locked high in a tower, waiting for love to come and release her from her terrible curse. She imagined that she was an ordinary girl, waking up in her own bed, walking to school, breathing without the assistance of technology. She imagined herself as a healthy, lively soul, the way she used to be.
Those were just dreams though. They were not going to happen. But still, Emerald hoped.
She could hope forever.
But that was before Emerald’s health got worse. No longer just headaches and occasional cramps, but much, much worse.
That night, Emerald woke up gasping and panting in the middle of the night, face damp. She no longer had time to dream about impossible futures, for she was always slipping in and out of consciousness. In her sleep there was only a dark blackness, and there were no dreams.
A darkness that called to her soul. Slowly, gently pulling her away from her body.
But something jarred her from the hypnotic darkness, and she gain consciousness for short spans of time, but she wished she didn’t, for those moments were filled with deep, bone cutting agony.
Whenever the little girl regained consciousness, she could make out the blurry images of people in white coats hovering over her. Her heart burned. Her skulled felt like it had split in half. Her eyes blurred with sweat and tears. And then she was submerged back into deep, dark, yet soothing blackness. But still no dreams.
And then something miraculous happened.
Her dreams returned.
But her heartbeat did not.

Little Emerald never got the chance to grow up, she never got the chance to live her life the way the world did. She never understood the term of “happiness,” nor did she ever get a chance to be normal. Emerald, being diagnosed with severe cancer at the age of eight, had finally learned her lesson after a little over a year. Days before she would pass way. Emerald did not have many regrets, but nor did she have many good memories.
She could only remember her 7th birthday, for cancer had muddled her mind and she had forgotten anything less that extremely significant. But she remembered, the day she was finally 7, how she was given a small, green dress that glittered in the light. A dress that sparkled and brought out the greens of her eyes. A dress that made her look so beautiful, a dress that gave a glimpse of what a beauty Emerald would have became.
She remembered her best friend, Phoebe Laurence, someone whom the little girl loved truly. Perhaps even more than her parents. Phoebe with her carefree smile, her laugh like tinkling bells, her eyes sparkling like the bluest of sapphires. She had been the perfect match for Emerald, the person who was suppose to stay by her side forever, who was suppose to love her. The one who couldn’t stay by her side because of the rift that even friendship couldn’t bridge over.
Death.
Yet Phoebe had tried, coming in almost everyday to talk to Emerald, comforting her, sharing jokes, holding her through her darkest of times. But pain and sadness had caused Emerald to drive Phoebe out of her life, leaving the girl more depressed than ever.
But after months and months of darkness and hatred, Emerald, she found hope. She was happier then, and she wanted nothing more than to see her friend, but by then Phoebe had already given up, and left Emerald to suffer alone. Emerald despised Phoebe for sometime, but she knew it was all her fault, and her fault it would remain. She had no excuse for her own behavior, and she deserved the horrid consequences. Emerald only realized how kind and wonderful Phoebe was when it was too late, realizing goodness in her best friend’s eyes when she told Emerald about all the things in the world when she would never see it again. Emerald realized much too late, and deep down within her she hated herself so very, very much. Phoebe was gone. And worse, she never got to beg for forgiveness. This Emerald’s one and only regret, losing Phoebe to her own selfish ways.
Cancer had never been the bane of her existence, but it was the misery she felt the first few months after being hospitalized, the refusal to accept who she was, cancer and all. She had chosen to cry and hate when she could have just embraced her pain, experienced it, and learned from it. Perhaps that little girl wasn’t so different after all, she envied and hated, failed to see the good.
She learned though. She learned her lesson of unfairness at the age of nine, when some never truly understand. She finally understood who she was, what cancer had done to shape her. She finally understood that even though she wasn’t going to run and play, she could still live her life. Differently, but still fully.
She realized this too late. Much, much too late.
But although Emerald now lays cold, lifeless on a small linen bed in a bare room, she is now surrounded by her loved ones. The ones who will remember her for as long as they live. The ones who will cherish her soul, hold it close to them. The people who have shown Emerald a little goodness in her eight years before her cancer. The ones who saw her potential, saw her inner beauty, saw her for who she truly was, through all her anger and resentment, cancer and pain, sadness and weakness. They saw the good in her. They saw the girl she used to be. The girl who was filled with life.
Cancer may have been the curse to take away her future, the thing that had shattered her spirit. But it was also the thing that taught Emerald all her lessons, the one that showed her that even the dullest, ugliest of things, can still carry a jewel deep inside.
Like hope.
Like beauty.
Like love.