I watch the fan spinning above me,

it was moving so quickly that it was quivering. 

I had always been afraid to turn it on because of the fear that it would fall on me.

At the moment, I don’t seem to care.

I almost feel like I want it to fall.

Fall on my legs,

break my bones.

I want to go to a hospital. 

It’s not like I want to be diagnosed with a terminal illness 

or have to have neural surgery. 

I want something minor, like a broken bone or something.

I’ve never broken a bone before. 

The fan has started to make a new sound, 

Its shaking becoming more rapid.

I feel a flutter in my chest, 

I’m nervous. 

But I don’t make myself get up and turn the fan off. 

I just lay here. 

Hospitals are so carefree. 

You don’t have to worry about a thing, and all your absences are excused. 

I don’t think I’d only want to break a bone though,

like I said,

that's too minor.

I want something

longer.

I would want my stay to be

longer.

I could do schoolwork at the hospital. 

Is it bad to wish for a terminal illness? 

The fan is shaking much more violently now. 

I still haven’t moved.

It could cut me if it fell. 

That sounds painful. 

But I don’t make myself get up and turn the fan off. 

I just lay here.

You don’t have to worry when you’re in a hospital. 

Unless you’re a doctor.

I know it’s bad to think like that.To wish I was dying, 

when so many sick kids my age wish to be healthy like me.

It’s awful. 

I feel ungrateful for my 

perfect health 

and unbroken bones. 

My 20/20 vision, 

my nourished body. 

I can walk, 

I can speak, 

I can do anything I want to. 

What’s missing? 

My want to do anything. 

The fan is out of control. 

I know it's going to drop any minute. 

I don’t know how fans work, 

but I know that this one is old. 

I know that this one can fall. 

This one can crush me. 

The sound is much louder now.

A voice in my head tells me to get up. 

Another voice says that there’s nothing to be afraid of. 

Louder and louder. 

Clang 

clang 

clang. 

The rickety fan spins and spins. 

I stare up at it as if daring the fan to do what it has threatened to do for so long. 

Faster and faster. 

Whoosh 

whoosh 

whoosh. 

The rickety fan spins and spins. 

I know I’m running out of time to make a decision. 

But this time I make myself get up and turn the fan off. 

I lay back down

and stare up as the fan gradually 

slows to a stop.

Quiet fills the room. 

Silence is all I can hear.