Author's Note: This is the beginning of a short series. This first part may be a little confusing to some people, but it will get easier to understand once you read more in weeks to come. I'll tell you now, to make it less confusing, that it is told from the point of view of cancer.
The first time I met with Devon she was eleven years old. She was beautiful; they always are. She was dancing when I began to form in her tissue; she didn't even know I was there. She wore a beautiful pink leotard and ballet shoes, she danced so gracefully, effortlessly as if she were an autumn leaf gently falling to the ground.
The spotlight was on her as she danced about the stage. The crowd was silent, unable to take their eyes off the dancing girl. When she finally stopped, the crowd remained still and quiet for a few moments, taking in that beautiful performance they had just witnessed. Soon the cheering was tremendously loud, every member of the audience on their feet. Devon smiled, so proud of herself for coming this far.
Her mother sat front and center, with tears streaming down her face. She was crying of happiness. She didn't know she would soon be crying tears of sadness; all because of me.
After the show Devon was greeted with flowers and teddy bears, congratulations and hugs. She glowed. She had never been so happy in her life. Ballet was her favorite thing and she wanted to do it for the rest of her life. Her teacher looked at her with admiration, knowing she had the great privilege to be teaching what would become one of the best ballerinas of her time.
Devon was only eleven years old, and dancing as well or better than most of the older girls. They all looked at her with envy at each practice wishing they could have been as lovely as her at that age. All of these girls had dreams of being a famous ballerina, to dance in New York City, to be loved by little girls all over the world. They all wanted it, but they all knew it would be Devon who would make it big. She didn't even know how talented she was, she just loved to dance, and that was all that mattered to her.
That night Devon would go home to sleep, she would dream of her performance over and over again. She would be so happy, and I would begin to slowly deteriorate her body. I would first cozy myself in her bone marrow, making a home for myself where I would be ready to fight the insides of this little girl. I would begin to mass produce blood cells, spreading myself as far as I possibly could. I would begin to kill this child, just as I always did. Some people may think it's hard for me to kill so many innocent people. I've killed hundreds, thousands, and my killing spree will never end. It's easy really, and I will get to anyone I can.
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"Wake up, honey," Devon's mom ran her fingers through her child's beautiful blonde hair in attempt to wake her up. She wished to watch her sleep for just a few more minutes, but it was already 7:04, and it was time to wake her daughter up for Saturday morning practice.
Her eyes slowly opened and a smile slowly spread across her face as she realized what time it was. She would soon be at her private lesson, getting even better than she already was at ballet. She rolled out of bed and quickly slipped into her tights and leotard.
She was still so tired from her performance the previous night, but her legs were restless with the desire to dance. She found her pink bag, with DEVON embroidered on the side in eloquent letters. She mad sure it was packed with everything she would need; her tutu, her ballet slippers, a bottle of water. She closed her eyes as her mother pulled her long hair into a bun, her long hair that came halfway down her back, now in a heap on top of her head. She opened her eyes and smiled at the familiar hairdo that meant it was time to do what she loved.
She climbed into the car next to her mom, ready to head to the studio. They didn't talk on the ride there, they never did. Devon just stared out the window, always with that smile on her face. She was so pleasant of a child, never arguing about anything; as long as she could dance, she was happy.
They arrived at the studio, 8:00 sharp. Devon ran inside to get warmed up, her mom sat in the car for a few moments, just thinking about what a lovely daughter God had blessed her with. We were never supposed to have kids. How did I end up with someone so magnificent? She truly believed Devon was an angel, sent to guide her through life. Her life would be so incomplete without Devon, she would have never been introduced to ballet. She got out of the car and walked inside, ready to watch her little miracle dance yet again. She did this every afternoon, and every Saturday morning. It never seemed to get old.
