My mother called me the other day and yet I still didn't tell her the diagnosis. Actually, I haven't told anyone and I don't exactly plan to either. I've known about it for weeks. One month and five days to be exact, but I hadn't been counting. I've just been waiting because now there was only one day left. What else was there to do?

Since I found out, I've gone about my days like normal: I woke up, I went to work, I ate lunch and I came home.

At the ripe age of 20 I sold an app that I had been working on, which evidently, ended up making me millions. Now at 23, I have my very own plush apartment in the nicest part of the city, a brand new car that I barely drove and a fancy phone, which I just so happened to have thrown against a wall about a month and five days ago. Lucky for me with the amount of money I had, I was able to go out and buy a new one.

I don't brag about the money I earned, actually, there are very few people outside my family who know how much money I really have. If you met me on the street you wouldn't even take a second glance. I was beyond average.

I've always been a healthy person. I've never smoked a cigarette. I've never smoked pot. Well, maybe I've smoked a little pot. I was on the track team in high school and college. I ate good food. It just didn't make sense. After one tiny seizure I had gone into see my doctor because it had never happened to me before and when I left I was no longer the healthy person I thought I always would be.

My doctor told me that there was a tumor putting pressure on some of the nerves in my brain and if they didn't surgically remove it, I would die within a few months. On my second visit to my doctor, he told me that even undergoing the surgery I would still only had a 50/50 shot of making it through. The date had been set and now tomorrow a bunch of strangers and a mass growing in my brain would decide my fate.

This couldn't have been karma. I've never hurt a single person in my life. Maybe I've left a few girls brokenhearted, but hey, what guy hasn't? Why was I the one who had been deemed irrelevant in life?

Lying out on the couch in my living room, I tossed the tiny red stress ball into the air above my head. My doctor had given it to me the day he told me my diagnosis, telling me it would help. But there wasn't anything in the world that could curb the thoughts that have been whirling around in my head since I found out.

My body tensed as my phone rang out loudly from its spot on the coffee table next to me. With my concentration lost, the red ball came down, hitting me square in the face.

"Ow!" I rubbed my nose angrily as I threw the ball across the room before I put the phone to my ear. "What?"

"Woah, man, what's got your panties in a twist?" My best friend, Dylan, laughed through the receiver.

"Nothing," I huffed. "Don't worry about it."

Like I said before, I haven't told anyone about my diagnosis. I didn't want to deal with the crying and all the pain that went along with it. But most of all, I didn't want the sympathetic looks and worried comments I would get from the people closest to me. I thought about it like this: either I have the surgery and live, or I die. Or I don't have the surgery and I die. It wasn't going to make a difference if people knew. Nothing would change the fact that there was a 50/50 chance of survival.

"Are you coming out with the boys and I tonight?" He asked, laughing at something that was happening wherever he was at the moment.

"No," I said with hesitation in my voice. "I think I'm going to stay in tonight."

"What?" Dylan sounded peeved by my answer. "When did you become a party pooper?"

"A month and five days ago," I mumbled to myself.

"What?" He spoke over me.

"Nothing, look I have to go..." I fiddled with the pages of a magazine that sat out on the table in front of me.

"Alright. Hey!" He paused. "I'm going to see you at Patrick's wedding, right?"

"When is it?" I concentrated hard, trying to remember the date, but nothing came to mind.

"Next month!" He yelled just a little too loudly. "We've been talking about the bachelor party since forever! What's with you, man, you feeling okay?"

"Right," I fumbled with my words. "Yeah- no, I'm fine."

"Alright, well," He sighed heavily. "Don't have too much fun doing... nothing."

"Yeah," My voice was low. "I'll try."

With that, the call ended. I loved my best friend, he was an amazing guy. We had known each other since we were five. We went to school together, we went to college together and we almost moved in together before he met his now wife, Michelle. It hurt to keep this from him, but I didn't want to worry him, much like I didn't want to worry my mother. So I kept everything to myself.

My lips parted slightly as I exhaled a breath of air, my body taking up the length of the couch. My eyes traveled around the room absentmindedly before I finally decided that I was having way too much fun for my own good and should spread my joy to the people around the city.

I stood up from my spot, grabbing my keys off the kitchen counter, before I headed out the front door, muttering to myself. "I guess I'll get a smoothie then."

. . . . .

A/N: Short first chapter, I know, but they'll get longer. Seeing as this is a short story, I've decide that it will only have 10 chapters. Also go check out AlexandraJayne28, she super cool and her books are great.

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