Dead before my twenty-first birthday.
And a lengthy period of deterioration before then.
I had grown up with the normal attitude that childhood was fun, adolescence a real period of growth, and in many ways adulthood was when the rewards were reaped. Decision making, self-direction and the building of a family were some of these. I was never going to experience this phase of life.
I had not had a serious girlfriend. I was nearing the end of my timid stage, where conversation with the opposite sex seemed difficult, and now I had less than five years left. If I looked like those photographs in the book, they wouldn't want to know me anyway.
My thoughts seemed to race in a circular pattern through my impatient fears.
I contemplated my years ahead and my fate after death.
My faith was immature at this age.
And so the time progressed at that intolerable pace that goes with sleepness nights.
Darkness had surrounded me.
I rolled from side to side, but sleep was not even close, so I threw back the covers and strode to the window. My pyjamas clung to my skin, glued by nervous sweat. I was shaking.
The moon was full, but the stars were few. I had to be quiet, to restrain the urge to break down, as I gripped the window ledge and stared. Was there a reason for this; a meaning behind the madness? In the past I could rely on everything turning out for the best, no matter what the problem. But this time I could see no way out.
Books don't lie. It was there in black and white. I was living out a contract, variable up to five years, but no longer.
