The Twelve Chimes Of Death

The grandfather clock in my home strikes once and I begin to think why I’m just wasting my life. 
Or whatever life is left inside of me.

I use to be a normal girl, having fun with friends, just living life like there would always be tomorrow. 
But at one point I started eating, just eating and eating. I was afraid of my “girlish figure” but to my 
surprise I wasn’t gaining weight but loosing it.

The grandfather clock strikes again, the second strike of twelve.

When I told my mother what was going on but she was so wrapped up in her own problems. She didn’t 
hear me, nor did I think she’d care. My father was so stressed about work that he didn’t even let me 
finish my sentence. My younger sister was too young to make even little sense of what I was trying to say.

The clock strikes yet again, that was the third.

After a while, maybe two months or so, someone started to notice the change. The school nurse, she sent 
a notice home saying that she recommended seeing a doctor. My mother, startled by the notice, reluctantly 
took me to the doctor. He took x-rays of every part little of my body. About a half an hour later he came in, 
with a look of sheer sadness. He spoke words that made my heart stop and my blood run cold.

The clock stroke with a chime of sheer beauty, the fourth strike.

The doctor looked at me with eyes filled with sadness and pity. He took my hands in his hands and he spoke 
very slowly. “You have cancer. You’re dying. If this had been treated two months ago, you would have a 
70-30 chance of making it. But it’s spread too far and surgery is out of the question. You only have a 5% 
chance of living. The only thing we can do now is…wait.”

The clock chimes for the fifth time and every time it does I feel as if a little more life is being consumed.

I walked out of the hospital with an endless stream of tears coming down my face, I cried so hard until I didn’t 
have a tear left inside of me. I went to school for the last time. By now I was getting too weak to do anything. 
I hugged every friend, foe, teacher, anyone who got close enough to hug. I went home, got some of my favorite 
things and then we went to the hospital, where I would slowly wilt away.

The sixth chime, halfway to twelve.

I walked into the room where I was told I was going to die in. I got comfortable and turned on the TV. To think, 
just two months ago, I thought I always live to see tomorrow, for all I know…there could be no tomorrow. I 
continued to eat and I continued to loose weight. But after only two days in the hospital, I told the doctor and 
my parents that I wanted to die in my own bed, in the house full of memories.

The seventh chime rings through my ears. There goes my muscles to death.

Since I was dying, they gladly moved me to my home. My sister was nicer to me than she’d ever been. Every day 
she brought me flowers and every night she prayed by my bedside. I truly felt like we were bonding but more 
darkness lay around the bend. My sister went outside to pick flowers, rain or snow, for me. Before I knew it, she 
was sick with pneumonia, she died two days later. I sat in wheel chair and I watched my younger sister being 
lowered into the cold, damp, dark ground.  I would be there soon.

The eighth chime rang through my home.

My parents are so overwhelmed with grief I don’t know how they’re going to make it through my death. I can feel 
it coming but my parents are so convinced that I’m going to make it through and that God will save me but I know 
the truth. God is not trying to save me or prevent my death. But I know the truth he’s calling me to his eternal
kingdom.

The ninth chime rings and it seems to be fading…

I started just staring into space, doing absolutely nothing. At one point, I thought of suicide. But then I realized it 
would be too messy and too slow. The doctor came every day to see me. Even though he wasn’t doing anything 
to help and out of good kindness, he stooped billing my parents. Even if I could go into surgery, they said I 
wouldn’t live through it.

The tenth chime rang through my home and it gently touched my eardrums. Two more until twelve.

When I slept I would dream about the future. I dreamed of going to the prom with a boy who had no face. I dreamed 
of stepping up and taking my high school diploma. I dreamed of my wedding day and my wedding dress. I dreamed 
of having my first child. When I woke up I cried. None of those things would ever happen.

The eleventh chime, it was like a fading whisper.

Now, I was writing a will, giving such and such to whoever. To me, it didn’t matter. By now I was nothing but skin and 
bones. All my beautiful hair was gone and I was as bold as you could get. I was so weak I couldn’t even turn on the 
TV. I’ve been sick for six months, the doctors said it was a miracle that I stayed alive so long. I held my mother and 
father hands and I said goodbye, they seemed to understand why I was saying goodbye.

The twelfth chime and I breathed in a giant breath and closed my eyes.

I went from my bed to the clouds, floating higher and higher. Up, further ahead was a Golden Gate. I looked at myself, 
I looked like I did when I first got sick, I looked normal. The gates opened and there…waiting…was my younger sister. 
I took her hand and we walked, hand in hand, we went into paradise.


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