Well, there she was. My Aunt Sheila. Well, what was left of her anyway. I realized it was probably the last time I was going to see her alive. She was frail, pale and smelled of death. It was awful. My uncle Wayne sat beside her, there in their home, and held her hand. It wouldn’t be long. I sat and talked to both of them and just with her and sometimes just with him. Tears were flowing. Hospice was checking in every few minutes too. While there, I was reminded of various events from my childhood that involved Sheila. She was there at my first basketball game, my baptism, oh and she got me my battle cat from He-man when I was 6.
After being there for about an hour I thought it time to leave. As I stood up I noticed she had a catheter. For some reason, and don’t hold this against me, I reached down to touch it. My uncle asked what I was doing so I told him. “I am starving for my aunt’s urine.” He laughed and we both drank it. Then, I sliced his jugular and pulled his thigh meat off. He was yelling loud. He bled out quickly onto his cheap ass floor. My aunt opened her eyes and was looking at me. I bent down and told her gently, “Aunt Sheila, you are about to enter hell. I hope you like it. You smell and look terrible. Here, let me cut your stomach open and pull the cancer out.” So, I did. It was a miracle. I had gotten rid of all her cancer in minutes. Unfortunately, she bled to death and died a horrible death. So! At least the cancer didn’t get her. I will miss her. Hell welcomed a horrible person that day and I often throw rocks at toddlers in her memory. Thank you so much for reading.