By Mia Steele - Year 11, St Hilda's Collegiate
Harry's Point of View:
The weight of her hand feels heavy in mine.
I look at the face I know and love. Her eyes flicker as she dreams, her face sketched with beautiful age.
The light shines through the hospital window, illuminating her face.
Carefully, I place her hand on her stomach and reach for the wrinkled, brown leather book.
Her eyelids twitch and flutter open.
''Hello Sunshine,'' I say as I reach over and kiss her soft cheek.
She smiles and opens her mouth, as if to speak.
Instead, she points to the book in my hand.
''You want to look at the photos?'' I ask.
Weakly, she nods. I gently open the old cover.
On the first page are our signatures scrawled in black ink, side by side.
I smile, thinking back to the day we wrote them.
We were so young, so naive, but so in love.
Just as I'm about to turn the page, someone opens the blue door.
The doctor tentatively steps into the room.
''Hello Luna. It's good to see that you're awake.''
She smiles at him.
''May I please speak to you outside Mr Sanders?''
Luna's Point of View:
Harry picks me up and twirls me around.
The breeze is cool against my skin and I giggle as I look at the man I love.
His straight, white teeth glimmer in the setting sun. His strong arms pull me into a hug.
''I love you,'' I say, snuggling deeper into his embrace.
I can't believe he's finally back. He was gone for so long. I missed him so much. ''I love you more,'' he smiles. ''And nothing will ever change that - not even the war.''
I feel his fingers on my chin pulling me closer. Our lips connect and fireworks fill my body.
My eyelids flutter open. As always, Harry is sitting next to my bed.
He notices that I've woken and smiles at me.
''Hello Sunshine,'' he says, leaning over and kissing my cheek.
I love when he calls me Sunshine, as ironic as it is, being that my name means - it means ... I can't remember.
I notice that he is holding our book.
As always, I long to talk to him. Every passing second is intolerable, not being able to do something I've done my whole life.
And the fog in my head. Ever since I was diagnosed, I feel a little more hollow every day.
That's why I look at the photos. To remember the most important moments.
It's a horrible cycle. I know Harry is hurting just as much.
I don't want him to be in pain. The chemo is tiring me out and I feel as though someone is drilling a hole in the back of my skull.
Sometimes I think it would be easier if I just passed away in my sleep.
I point at the leather in his hand and smile at him.
''You want to look at the photos?'' he asks.
I nod weakly.
He opens the tired cover carefully. On the first page are some scribbles - I know they have significance. Why can't I remember?
I feel my eyes well up and a hot tear slides down my cheek.
No. I can't do this to Harry. I need to be strong.
Just as he goes to turn the page, the door squeaks open.
My doctor walks in.
''Hello Luna, it's good to see that you're awake.''
I smile at him, trying to cover up the fact that I've been crying.
Harry's Point of View:
''Will you be all right darling?'' I ask Luna.
She's been crying. I choke back a sob. I feel my heart tear a little more.
She points to the door, insisting I go with the doctor.
Quickly, I bend down and give her a kiss on the forehead.
''I love you Sunshine,'' I whisper.
''I ... I love ... you ... too,'' she struggles.
Tears spurt down my cheeks. That's the first thing she has said since she has been here.
I smile the strongest smile I can manage. Her brown eyes are full of compassion. Why her?
I follow the doctor out the door. I look back at Luna. Her eyes are shut as if already asleep.
''Is it good news?'' I ask, reluctant to hear the answer.
''I'm sorry Mr Sanders. She has gotten worse.''
The tears are streaming down my cheeks. I hear him still talking, but my brain refuses to process it.
She can't be worse. She is the strongest woman I know. I can't live without her.
''... the hospital would like to suggest that we take her out of the chemotherapy ward, and let her live her last days happy, without the pain.''
I feel a hand on my shoulder and I crumple to my knees.
''I am truly sorry,'' he says sympathetically.
I am at a loss for words.
The only thing I will have left when she is gone is the photographs.
A stupid, old leather book filled with photographs.
The tears continue flowing, and I don't think they will ever stop.
