John

Now September

I sat low on my chair. My white lab cape draped around me, both protecting my street clothes hidden under the pure white material, yet also hindering my ability to maneuver around my tight office. I swirled from one station to the next, placing my eye over the eye piece to gaze intently into the microscope one moment, then swinging around the room to enter the results into the old computer provided by the institution. I worked frantically, nimble fingers pecking at keys, the only sound joining my labored breathing. Time was running out yet I knew I still had a large amount of work to be done.

Exactly a six months ago, to the very minute, I had received a phone call at home. The type of call that every father dreads receiving. The person on the one end had spoken soften, with a voice full of sorrow and empty understanding. They had said something about someone fainting, and blood, lots of blood, staining into her dress and onto her hair. I heard the name Annie and my heart had skipped a beat. My daughter was the one, bleeding profusely that every drop of blood she held on to could very well be the difference between life and death. I had heard sirens in the back as I stumbled to the floor, in utter shock and disbelief. My day of happiness for my baby girl, my daughter, had turned suddenly into a nightmare.

It had been her last prom, her senior prom, the one before she turned 18 and the one that lead her into women hood. Just hours before that phone call she had glided down the stairs like an angel. Her soft blond hair placed lightly behind her head, yet flooded down her body. The clash of blond hair and a purple dress had brought a certain regal quality to her appearance, like she was princess of the entire world. Jacen, her best friend, and his date had come to pick her up for the grand event, one that parents were not cordially invited too. Jacen had told me that he’d take care of her. He gave me his word.

Yet the memory of that seems as shatter as the way my heart has felt everyday since hearing that person on the phone, a teacher I believe, inform me that my daughter was in critical condition.

Wiping the remains of tears from my eyes, I pushed these thoughts out of my head. Feeling sorry now would not get anything accomplished. I needed results and I needed them now. That was the only way.

My profession was a cancer researcher at the (Name of Institution). I had always been fascinated in an awe-inspiring way cancer cells could tear whole organs apart. I had made it my life long goal to create a cure to his natural destructor. Never had I imagined that cancer would destroy my daughter, and never had I envisioned cancer destroying me.