Meet Mary, Mary, Quite Contrary:

“She’s awake!” a voice next to me said. I looked over to see a black-haired boy about my age in the next bed. “You were out for three days.”

“It’s Saturday?” I groaned, struggling to sit up.

“Yeah,” he swung his legs over the side of the bed so that he was turned to face me. “What was it?”

“A car accident,” I said.

“Was it your accident?” he said.

“No,” I laughed.

He hopped down from his bed, “I’m dying.”

My chuckle died down. He took me from 60 to 0 just like that. I leaned forward to take in his jaunt features. His hollow cheeks, his sunken eyes, the protruding bones of his wrists. I didn’t want to know what was doing it to him.

“What’s your name?” he climbed in next to me. His shoulder rubbed against mine. I could feel the sharp bones in it.

“Mary,” I said.

“Mary,” he grinned. “I’m Daniel.”

“Daniel,” I said. He was still grinning, it was beautiful. He was beautiful for someone who was dying. It was such a shame. “It’s nice to meet you.”