And I could finally repay that debt—the one that had crushed me for eighteen years.
But I was about to die.
Some debts can never be fully repaid.
Having decided to die, I returned to the hospital.
The doctor said without surgery, I had one month left. As my condition worsened, my body would swell, my kidneys would fail, until my heart simply gave out.
After a brief internal struggle, I decided to donate my organs.
Better to help others than rot in a hospital bed with no dignity.
And more importantly—I could leave my parents some money for nutrition supplements.
The doctor couldn't talk me out of it. Eventually, he agreed.
I signed the papers: my corneas, part of my liver.
While waiting for blood work and matching results, the doctor handed me a meal voucher. Starving, I traded it for a palm-sized cake.
Tomorrow was my eighteenth birthday.
The cake bristled with eighteen candles, like little flames ready to consume me whole.
I closed my eyes for a long time, but couldn't think of a wish. Maybe the dying shouldn't have hopes at all.
I ate the sweet cream in tiny sips, scraped the plate clean, and still wanted more.
My first cake ever. It was delicious.