Information

Molly Wolf has a minion!

Sten the Skelihaund

Molly Wolf
Legacy Name: Molly Wolf

The

Reborn Kumos
Owner:

Crevan

Age: 9 years, 5 months, 5 days

Born: November 24th, 2014

Adopted: 9 years, 5 months, 5 days ago

Adopted: November 24th, 2014

Statistics

Level: 18
Strength: 43
Defense: 41
Speed: 37
Health: 37
HP: 27/37
Intelligence: 50
Books Read: 48
Food Eaten: 0
Job: Bottle Sorter

dreamsky original coding

Evlon editing
User not found: crevannight Story

Navigation

My Owner's Page : My Wishlist : Subeta

About

Likes:
+Outdoors
+Cuddling
+Feathers
+Animals
+Antiques

Dislikes:
-Hospitals
-Crowded Places
-Strangers
-Noisy Places

Traits:
â€¢Intelligent
â€¢Gentle
â€¢Friendly
â€¢Quiet

I Survived.

When I was young I would imagine that every blink was taking a picture; that I would have hundreds, thousands of pictures waiting for me someday. Today, I believe it would be millions, even with my limited life span. There have to be millions of beautiful photographs displaying my life in vivid, almost unimaginable colors. Unimaginable especially when the last bit of my life has been filled with whiteness, or at the very best, dim pink nurse scrubs and the light blue bedding that was becoming duller by the day. This is, of course, if these photos truly exist somewhere.

As a child I hardly thought of where the pictures were stored. Some inner part of me had to believe it was for my after life. I used to imagine a large box of photographs waiting for me in the unknown. Part of me was always afraid I would forget my life when that time came, and when those fears were at a peak I would blink far too often as though my eyes were irritated. And then, after I was certain I had captured everything around me Iâ€™d calm down again, content that those moments were stored away somewhere. They were out of reach at the time â€“ but I imagined, someday, I'd have them again. That was all I cared about.

Of course, now, I am not sure if I believe in any of that. Still, I wish for my childhood imagination to hold some truth. There are so many parts of life I wish to have back. So many parts of life I wish I could slip into and away from the smell of disease in the form of machines and medicines and bland food. Did I take pictures of good food? Will the smells accompany them? Iâ€™m uncertain if that was ever important enough to me, if I ever realized how wonderful some things were that I now wished were right before me again.

I wondered, too, about who I had pictures of. Perhaps my parents, young, alive and well. Myself in the same condition, looking in a mirror, beautiful and lively, making faces at myself. Myself a bit older, but not sick, my long hair soft and full, my eyes clear and proud.

I avoid mirrors now, and part of me, in this train of thought, is glad for that. I donâ€™t want pictures waiting for me that remind me of any of this time. But perhaps that is unavoidable. By now my collection of hospital pictures is getting quite large, Iâ€™m sure. Tests and shots, medicine, my health declining as I stare at another handful of hair even while still living at home. Those things, though, were a while ago. Now I see no hair. The tests are all done; there's no point to them when the inevitable has been written out before me. Perhaps it is best that I just close my eyes and keep them shut.

Among the dullness and the sorrow, though, there is still one image I love to see. Every day, nearly all day, or as much as he can manage, he sits by my bedside, or lays with me when I persuade him to. Heâ€™s good at being himself, at hiding the sorrow that everyone else I know is terrible at. He hides it so well when heâ€™s here that I can get lost in the feeling of his gaze, still looking at me admiringly, as though the cancer didnâ€™t exist and I was still fully alive and beautiful.

And he is the last one I want to see when I close my eyes for the final time. I know he will be there and I know he will still look at me in that loving way, and the final image of my life will be one I will not be afraid to look at when the time comes, and one I will love perhaps more than all the rest.