Flightless

She was a ball of sunshine, bright and fierce. Her hair was an untamed mane that roared and her smiles screamed queen of the jungle gym.

One day, while launching an action figure over her head, the actors that shined through her television screen captured her attention. Their lines transcended reality and exposed her to a brand new fantasy land. From that point forward, the arts of theatre morphed into a world worth diving into.

The eyes of the camera enhanced life with rose-colored lenses, that alone was enough.

One day, while playing tag with the neighborhood kids, her forehead overheated and she blacked out. Crashed in a field of dead leaves and crumbled dreams. Screams broke loose, and then she awoke to a room painted all white.

Dr. What's-His-Face diagnosed her after that. Told her that cancer was killing her blood cells, poisoning her from within, and that she couldn't play with the neighborhood kids anymore. She thought it was a nightmare, hoped it was a nightmare.

The nightmare turned into her new life.

Now she was stardust, and not the romantic kind, but the kind that was blurred and scattered in a void of nothingness. Her hair was a thinning mop, a retired lion, and her smiles cracked from sessions of chemotherapy and radiation.

(But she still wanted to shine like the actors on the screen, so she tried to be okay anyway, like she wasn't broken, like she wasn't dying.)