Cora is eighteen years old.

She has straight dark brown hair, hazel eyes, and olive skin.

Her heart shaped face is sweet and her high pitched voice makes her instantly endearing.

She is wearing a light, floral print dress in her favorite shades of coral pink and red.

And Cora is dying of an incurable cancer.

She’s lying in a hospital bed. It’s cold, and starched and empty of any kind of comfort.

She’s only had one boyfriend. Just a few kisses thrown casually to a northerly wind and she’ll never have another. She doesn’t have very much time left.

She doesn’t wear a hospital gown anymore. The doctors don’t mind much. After all, any minute could be her last.

She likes to watch the trees move outside of the window. For an eighteen year old, she’s very close to nature.

“It’s okay, sweetheart,” her mother says as her last wave of pain hits, “It’ll be over soon.”