Terminus

The bright sunlight forces you to squint. The last few hours were a blur. Brain cancer, inoperable, and a few weeks, or was it months, to live, is all the remained when you walked out.

Refusing to have anyone pick you up, you signed out of the hospital, some stack of papers in your hand including a few pamphlets on treatment options.

You could drive home and see your younger sister. Your mother was out on a walkabout of some sort, as was your dad, since you were no older than three. There was your best friend, she lived closest and always knew how to put a smile on your face. The idea of your own home sounded nice, it would be quiet and there'd be no one to explain anything to.