Young Writers Society

Hi everybody! This is my first chapter in the new novel I'm writing called "Under the Starry Sky." It's about a young 14 year old girl who has a little sister that has been diagnosed with lung cancer and receives a therapy dog. Please tell me if I should make this 12+ or E because one of the characters dies at the end of the book. There's nothing graphic in it, though. Thanks!

I woke to the sound of the wind rustling the leaves on the trees. I slowly turned my head toward the alarm clock that rested on my nightstand: 10:14. Trudging out of my bed, I figured that today would be like most ordinary days. I would soon realize that I was wrong. I picked up my robe from off the chair and put it on and sat down. I stared. out the window. A little cloudy, but not really looking like it would rain. It was early June and school had just gotten out a few days ago. Rain showers and thunderstorms came often in the summer months of Florida.

I sat there for a while, thinking about my life. School, friends, my parents, my sister. Always my sister. She was the top priority in my family, and with good reason. Last month, my 6-year old sister Isabel was diagnosed with lung cancer. And it happened on her birthday, too.

They were about to cut her favorite cake in the shape of a gigantic pink princes castle. It was chocolate ice cream on the side with pink frosting on the outside, and inside it was vanilla sponge cake. She was so excited about that cake. And she never got to cut it or blow out the candles. It was the one, singular thing she was most looking forward to. On the day of her birthday, she had been playing outside with, oh, say, eight or so of her friends from school. For about a month now, Izzy had had a dry, hacking cough that never went away. We tried everything. She had been to the doctor numerous times, but no one could figure out what she was suffering from.

As she ran around playing tag at her party, she began to cough even more. She walked over and told me she was starting feel dizzy. I told her I would go tell our mother and have her come over, and for her sit down and forget about the game for a while. But of course she started to run around again. By the time I was back with my parents, Izzy had collapsed on the ground and was barely breathing. We called an ambulance and they rushed to the ER. She stayed there for a couple of days. Then we got the call: the call informing us that Izzy had been diagnosed with lung cancer.

It was a very rare case, as lung cancer is not typically a young person’s illness. Everyone we knew who lived in Florida came down to see her at the hospital. She looked a pale unhealthy child that hadn't slept in years. I ran over and hugged her, smelling the sweet scent of lavender shampoo on her silky hair that she would always pour onto her head a bottle per bath. The first thing she asked me was, "My cake. Where's my cake, Lexie?", she whispered softly into my ear. "Oh, Izzy," I told her, "I promise you that someday we'll have your cake. No matter what. Is that a deal?" She nodded to me that day. And I was determined to keep my promise to her.

I could of stayed there forever, just hugging my sister. I shook my head to clear away my thoughts. I then walked over to my closet and quickly changed into some dark blue jean shorts and a navy and white striped tank top. Then I slipped into some navy flip-flops and brushed my long, deep brown shaded hair. Slowly and reluctantly, I walked to my sister's room, bracing myself for the worst. I placed my fingers on the knob, and at first hesitated to turn it. I looked up at her pale pink door that read "Isabel" in bright purple letters, proudly displayed near stickers of fairies and crowns and teddy bears that were given to her from the workers at the hospital. Then I realized that I would have to open the dreaded door one time or another. So I did. I turned the knob and opened the door on the day that would change my life forever.

And there was Isabel. Dark honey-blond hair and dazzling blue sapphires for eyes. People always told us our eyes were what brought us together as sisters. But to me we looked absolutely nothing alike. Her beautiful and dainty little golden curls, framing her pale and somewhat angelic, yet strong and brave little face. Her eyes were still closed, and her long lashes soon fluttered open like a butterfly with a broken wing. Slowly, but a bit choppy, and still so gracefully done. And there they were. The perfectly round jewels, the ocean blue pools of water. The eyes. Her eyes. Our eyes. "Good morning." she said in her delicately soft, small voice.

That almost brought me to tears. I didn't know how much longer I would be hearing that voice. I sat on a small chair next to her bed. "Izzy." I managed to say in a breaking tone. I reached out and brushed a tuft of gold out of her face and curved it behind her ear. "Lexie, don't cry." She told me. I hadn't even realized that tears were slowly beginning to stream down my face. Anything for her. I looked into her eyes and smiled, making funny faces. She giggled. Hearing that warm, bright laugh filled me with hope. Hope that she would live until tomorrow. Maybe even until next year. But the chances of that happening were slim. She had 6 short months at the most to live the rest of her fragile life, according to the doctors.

"I'm hungry," Izzy announced, as if absolutely nothing was wrong and she didn't have a care in the world, "Are mom and dad up yet, Lexie?" I nodded. "I think they are." That was when I heard something plop into a pan and begin to sizzle and fry coming from the kitchen. "Come on, I'll wheel you over." On the opposite side of her bed was a folded up wheelchair. Although she could walk perfectly fine, the doctors didn't want her to lose her energy from walking, even it was only around the house. She was exhausted from the trauma at the hospital . I unfolded her wheelchair, placed it by her bed, and helped her into it. She smiled and looked up at me. I smiled back.

The little things like that were what mattered to me. Just sharing a smile with my sister. Her smile quickly faded though, as she began one of her bouts of terrible coughing. I tried to help my handing her water and patting her back. Thankfully her coughing stopped quickly. I wheeled her out of the bedroom and into the living room where my mom and dad were sitting across from each other I knew they were really aching inside to see their little girl so ill and frail, but they tried to hide it with a mask of fake happiness plastered across their faces. At times I think I'm the only one that noticed their smiles aren't real. No, correction: ALL the time, I KNOW I'm the only one that noticed their smiles aren't real.

"We made waffles for breakfast, Izzy," said Mom, "I know there your favorite!" I helped Izzy onto Mom's lap and sat down next to Dad. We ate without mentioning how grave everything was. We never did in front of Izzy or at meal times. Those were the only times when we could enjoy life anymore, even if we were just trying to hide the depressing reality of her very probable (and quickly approaching) death from Izzy.

We ate and talked about Izzy's coloring and how good her drawings were. She wanted to be an artist when she became older and always practiced hard by drawing flowers, animals, and her favorite: stars. She always said you could fly if you tried hard enough, and that you would be able to grasp the star from the sky and keep it forever.

A small smile shaped across my face with the thought. I put my arm around Izzy and kissed her cheek. She giggled and hugged me. As soon as we finished, our parents made an announcement: “Izzy? We have a surprise for you,” said Dad, “Your mom and I are going downtown for something. We’ll be back at around two thirty, if everything goes well.” Izzy smiled gently and looked to me: “Lexie, can you take me outside to play?” she pleaded. I sighed and looked down at her, replying, “I’m sorry, but I can’t Izzy. You need to stay inside the house and rest up.” I saw her eyes look down quickly. “Oh,” she said dully, “That’s okay. I get it.” I nodded at my parents, and they stood up and pushed in their chairs. “Love you two.” Said our mother. She passed over and gave Izzy a longing, sad look before pecking her gently on the cheek. Dad also gave her a kiss and then pat me on the head. They were already dressed, so each grabbed a jacket off the coat rack by the entrance (not that they needed them outdoors, but some buildings have freezing cold air conditioning blasting inside of them) as they passed by, and headed out the door.

Little did I know that in exactly four hours, seventeen minutes, and thirty-eight seconds, my life would never be the same again.

Please tell me about any errors! Constructive criticism would be appreciated!