A hush had fallen over the swing park, which in contrast with the busy tennis court was almost empty. Only one swing was moving a little, swaying softly as if disturbed by the wind. On it sat Joe, her trainers slightly grazing the muddy ground, her hands loosely grasping the chains that suspended the seat from the overhead bar. Her head rested slightly to the side, and she shifted her body once, twice to get rid of the numbness in her buttocks and lower side.

Please, somebody tell me . . . why did this happen to me?

Closing her hazel eyes, she arched her back slightly and stretched her arms, trying to release the pressure that was steadily building up at the base of her spine. The sudden movement rattled the chains and for a moment she lost her balance as her arms failed wildly in the air. Breathing quickly, she made a desperate attempt to grab hold of something to stop herself from falling backward.

The swing swung in erratic circles as she struggled to right herself, squirming clumsily as she sought to resort to her previous position. Her heart beat which had quickened on her impending fall reassumed its rhythmic beat. She sighed with relief, and began to swing, very gently in the first instance. She moved her feet in the air so that the swing swung backwards and forwards, to and fro, softly caressing the warm breeze. Gradually, it went higher, the ground dropping away below her as her feet kicked out more insistently and she sailed up into the orange streaked sky.

Tell me . . . why do I have to lose the one thing that's so important to me?

Joe stared up at the sky; as she leaned back making her body work the swing. The sky was a flare of bright orange colors, as the sun began its gradual decent behind a horizon, which would slowly be replaced with the dull shades of the twilight night. The wind blew through her wavy, thick brown hair, cascading behind her as she moved forward, and then slapping the base of her neck as she moved backward.

The arc of her swinging grew smaller and smaller and she moved more and more slowly as she descended back down towards the earth. Her feet touched the ground, scuffed it a few times making the dirt fly up around her, and then stopped.

Tell me . . . why does no one understand?

Joe's gaze lowered to the earth beneath her feet that a moment ago had been so far away, but now seemed to jump out at her menacingly. Her body, suddenly devoid of the energy that had coursed through her veins a while ago, felt week and lifeless as she slumped her shoulders and gripped the swing chains tighter. She felt her lower lip begin to tremble, and she closed her eyes for a minute, feeling the familiar sensation of tears stinging the back of her eyes.

The moment her feet had left the ground she had thought that everything would be alright that she could forget it all, the pain, and the emptiness if she willed it away. But as all the turbulent thoughts came crashing back, reverberating painfully through her mind, she realized bitterly that she had been wrong.

Tell me . . . . Why cant I escape?

Feeling as though a damn was being released from somewhere inside her body, Joe started to cry. Her hands slackened around the chains, falling to her side as her shoulders heaved uncontrollably.

Please, somebody tell me . . . . What am I supposed to do now?




Please, somebody tell me . . .

Joe raised the mike to her mouth, and closed her eyes in calm serenity as she pelted out the soft lyrics. Above her the stage lights blared, casting her in a green spotlight; and behind her she could hear her band members pounding away at their instruments in precise unison with the beat of her song.

She raised a hand up watching as the light flickered over her it, illuminating her fingers an unearthly green. Slowly, she moved her hand above her, and then drew it back towards her, her fingers softly tracing the invisible cloak of protection her music created around her. The cheers of the crowd came as if from a long way away, settling like a comfortable buzz in the back of her mind as her strong voice reached the farthest and darkest corners of the room.

She could feel her heart beat quicken as she reached the peak of her song. For a moment she feared she might drop the mike from the sudden feeling of pleasure that swept through her trembling body. She opened her eyes again and gripped the mike a little tighter in her hands. A strand of hair came loose from her tight ponytail, sticking against the beads of sweat on her forehead. Joe she hurriedly brushed it aside with a slight flick of her hand.

Suddenly without warning, her voice broke. Somewhere inside, the lyrics of her song seemed to get lost and caught in the thickness of her throat, and all that came out was a slight groan. Her eyes widened briefly in alarm, and she opened her mouth again in an effort to sing, her confusion quickly giving rise to panic. This time, before she could even work her vocal cords, her whole body was consumed by a harsh coughing fit.

Eyes watering, she clutched frantically at her throat with one hand, trying desperately to suck in mouthfuls of air between the coughing spasms. Every breath seemed laden with pain as she tried to inhale. She finally let go of the mike, and drew her hand to cover her mouth as though trying force back in the coughs. The mike dropped to the stage floor with a loud thud, thundering through the whole stadium, clashing with the music that now sounded empty without the presence of her lyrics.

She thought she could hear the gasps and screams of the on looking crowd, but her body would not stop shaking from the coughs and she felt she could do nothing to reassure them. She dropped to her knees and wrapped her hands tightly around herself making a weak attempt to stifle her bodys violent jerking. She heard the clanks of her band member's instruments as they too were dropped to the ground in forgotten heaps and the pounding of their feet against the hard floor, as they rushed to her. Screaming her name.

She tasted something metallic in her mouth and widening her eyes again this time with dread, slowly withdrew her hand from her mouth. The color of the substance that stained her fingers was slightly distorted in the blaring lights of the concert hall but Joe knew quite well what it was. Terror gripped her insides, clenching her guts as she realized that she was coughing up blood. Her vision began to swim, her bright orange day quickly turning to one that of a dark smudged gray. She let out one final haggard cough, and collapsed to the stage floor in a heap.

. . . why did this happen to me?






Tell me . . .

'Does it hurt much?' Dr. Watson asked Joe as his gently prodded her throat with the tips of his fingers. Joe gulped, barely shaking her head. There was a long silence in which Dr. Watson solemnly observed his patients condition from beneath dark lashes. As he bent over her frail body which was spread out awkwardly on the examination bed, his brow furrowed and he couldn't help but notice the slight withdrawn symptoms Joe was showing. Her hair hung limply against her thin face and there were deep groves under her eyes, giving her an almost wide-eyed haunted look.

Appearing somewhat calm on the outside as he carried out his usual checkup, inside was a different case as he battled with the turmoil of emotions that any decent doctor felt when they saw their patients health slipping between their fingers. He gritted his teeth, something he always found himself doing when he was worried; a habit he had not shed since his childhood days as his eyes once again surveyed Joe's face. A deep sadness settled at the pit of his stomach as he noted the hollowness of her cheeks, the paleness of her skin, and the ghostliness of her eyes. Those eyes. They made him shudder inside for they reminded him of the eyes of a prisoner, dull and lifeless on the outside, but behind the iris dwelled a caged figure that constantly paced, praying for release.

Sighing heavily to himself, Dr. Watson motioned for Joe to sit up which she did so, stiffly rising as though in a vamparic like trance and the paper like sheets beneath her ruffled noisily as she positioned herself in an upright position at the edge of the bed. She grabbed her trainers from the side of the bed, and thrust her feet into them, not even bothering to tie the laces. A thin hand ran through her hair as she struggled to put back the strands of hair that had come escaped from her untidy loose bun, but suddenly understanding that her hair was way past the stage of redemption, dropped her hand to her lap, and looked at Dr. Watson expectantly. "Well?"she whispered inquiringly. "How is it?"

Once again behind the protection of his desk, Dr Watson leaned his elbows against the caramel colored wood and clasped his fingers together. He set his mouth into a firm line and narrowed his blue eyes as he silently pondered his choice of words. "Well the tumor in your throat isnt spreading as quickly as it was before,"he paused, trying to read Joe's expression or in other words struggling to penetrate the emotionless mask she placed over her face the moment she walked through his door. As usual she was careful at concealing any type of expression off her face so that not even the slightest emotion leaked out and as usual Dr. Watson had not even the faintest idea what she was thinking.

"However, I think that at this stage, it would be wise to carry out 'the operation' as soon as possible." Dr. Watson, who had picked up a pen to write something on the form that lay before him, stole a glance at Joe for old time's sake and was surprised to see that her mask had for a moment, cracked allowing him to see the scared and confused girl behind it.

Not really sure whether to feel sad or satisfied with this little piece of insight, Dr. Watson turned his thoughts elsewhere and wheeled around in his chair to look pointedly at Joe's mother. She had been sitting quietly in the corner, her hands held tightly in her skirt as she silently observed the proceedings with an air of sadness. She caught his eye, and nodded back at him tiredly.

Joe swung her legs off the bed she had been sitting on, then jumped down with one fluid motion of her body. Marching towards Dr. Watson's desk with her chin held high, she balled her hands into fists at her side suddenly appearing wild and beautifully alive; completely different from the silent and withdrawn girl he'd just examined a moment ago. "Will the operation affect my singing career?" she demanded, her eyes flashing.

Dr. Watson looked slightly taken, but fought to hide it as he leaned back in his chair. 'The operation we plan to carry out is a complicated one,'� he replied staring straight back at her. 'The malignant cancer in your throat is just below your vocal cords, so to remove it without causing some considerable harm to your vocal cords would be''

'Will it affect my voice?'� Joe snapped cutting him off mid-sentence. She leaned forward so that her hands were now gripping the front of the desk, and her face was just inches away from his face. 'Yes or no? It's a very simple question.'�

Her mother stood up from the chair behind her, and stepped towards them, frowning in disapproval. She placed a hand on her daughters shoulder as if to say that's enough, but Joe gave no indication that she cared or heard her mother silent plea. She just stared at Dr. Watson forcefully with a contained rudeness, only anger could give.

Lost between the contradicting emotions of wanting to scold Joe for her obvious rudeness and at the same time hug her for her courage, Dr. Watson frowned, the lines around his eyes creasing. 'Yes,'� he admitted after a moment of silence and put down the pen he was holding. 'There is a 60 percent chance that may never sing again might be damaged.'�

There it was again, that quick crack in that neutral mask. Like the first time, it happened so quickly, it was almost unnoticeable, but Dr. Watson knew what to look for this time. The disgruntlement he had felt bubbling up inside at being snapped at instantly disappeared when he caught the look of pain that flickered across Joe's face.

Oh god, he thought unhappily. No kid should have to suffer like this.
'I see,'� she said quietly, instantly reverting back to her withdrawn and quiet self. She let go of the desk and straightened her self. 'Then I guess we're done.'�

You know how I feel about it. If I lose my voice I can't sing. And if I cant sing . . .
Dr. Watson picked up his pen, and wrote something quickly in that scruffy writing that all doctors used. 'I'm putting you on stronger medicine and a higher dosage to try and retain the spreading,'� he told her, tearing the page out of the notepad. 'So be more careful when taking this medication. It might hurt a bit more.'� Lifting his eyes from the file he was looking at, he made to hand the prescription to Joe, but she was already halfway to the door.

Her mother took it for her, thanking him softly and smiled apologetically at him as though trying to excuse her daughter's disrespectful behavior.

Dr. Watson smiled back at her kindly. 'It doesn't bother me,'� he said good naturedly, sadly wondering when this poor women would cross her limit. Like her daughter, she looked as though she could do with a good nights rest and perhaps a huge tub of anti depressants. Or sleeping pills. For a moment he considered prescribing her some, but didn't women have a crazy complex about that? Tell them they look terrible and they go all ninja on you. He sighed inwardly. She appeared so
broken and worn in though, and his heart like it usually did upon seeing her, immediately went out to her.

'It'll be alright,'� he reassured her comfortingly.

For a second, her lips quivered and her eyes reddened, and he feared she might burst into tears but she didn't,, saving him the awkwardness of not knowing what to say as she perhaps cried on his shoulder. He was thankful when she drew in a deep breath and somehow managed to regain her composure. 'I truly hope so,'� she whispered back and she just like her daughter disappeared out of the room.

. . . why do I have to lose the one thing that's so important to me?



Tell me . . .

'I don't think so,'� Joe muttered, carefully settling down her fork and staring down at her untouched food. Averting her eyes, she dropped her mouth to the glass of chocolate milkshake beside her dinner plate to pick up her straw. She sucked gently, for a moment ignoring the pain in her throat as she drained the glass. Only when she had slurped up the last drop of brown liquid and had thrust aside the empty glass, did she finally raise her eyes to meet her parents. 'I dont think so,'� she repeated this time a bit more loudly.

The clock on the wall ticked away, a forgotten remnant of the life her grandfather had once lived, now passed on them. It looked ancient and completely out of place in the brightness of the bright room, but mum had insisted, despite her fathers complaints and had placed it on the wall next to her favorite landscape oil painting. Now, evolved in the awkward silence her words had brought about, Joe held her breath and watched the hand of the clock move. Tick tock

Finally: 'I heard you the first time!'� her dad snapped back at her from across the dinner table. His fork was poised in front of his mouth as he glared at his a daughter from beneath a heavy brow. With a heavy sigh that strangely also happened to echo his desperation, he finally decided he was beginning to lose patience with her. Her refusal to have the operation not only frustrated him, but it did absolutely nothing to ease the heartache he felt whenever he looked at her. His daughter's stubbornness reminded him something of himself yet the knowledge only sought to add fuel to his anger.

Shoving the forkful of food into his open mouth, his loud chewing was the only sound that could be heard as he silently regarded his daughter; his only daughter and child whom he loved a great deal. His jaw suddenly stopped its rhythmic crunching as his eyes slowly took in the sight of Joe's untouched food and her thin sickly body. Gulping down a mouthful of half-chewed food, he panicky wondered just how much longer his daughter; who was slowly decaying before his eyes would last.

'You know how I feel about the operation,'� Joe said softly, narrowing her eyes. 'I won't have it!'�

'You certainly are young lady,'� was all her father could reply. He looked at her in disbelief completely at a loss for words.

'You can't do that operation without my consent and I'm saying no,'� Joe went on, looking from her father to her mother. 'You have to understand that I don't want . . . that I don't want to''.

Her voice trailed off as she started to cough violently, her frail body jerking in her chair. Her mother half stood up, the chair legs scraping the tiled floor as she made to rush to her daughter's side, but Joe waved her back, indicating that she was alright. Still looking slightly worried, her mother sank back slowly in her chair, her eyes never leaving Joe's face.

It was a while before Joe stopped coughing and when she did finally mange to gather her wits; her face was bright red from the sudden exertion. When she spoke gain, her voice was weak and barely audible over the sound of the dining room fan. 'I don't want to lose my voice,'� she finished off. 'I live to sing, not the other way round.'�

Her dad let out a low growl and pounded his hands against the dining table, making Joe and her mother jump. It made a squelch sound as his fists squashed right into a layer of thick, greasy sauce from the Chinese he had spilled on the table just a moment ago, but he didn't seem to notice as he glared at his daughter.

'You life is on the line here and all you can think about is your voice!'� he spat. His wife placed a comforting hand on his arm, but for once it did nothing to dampen his anger. 'You could die and all I ever hear you talk about is your voice, your voice! God girl, open your own eyes and don't be so damn self centered. Think about us' your parents. Think about how this is supposed to make us feel!'� he stopped his angry monologue when he saw that Joe was crying. Feeling slightly guilty and ashamed at himself for having ventured out all his anger on her, he whipped around to face his wife in his sudden frenzy.

'This is all your fault,' he shouted at her, strangely feeling the burden being lifted off his shoulders as he threw the blame at her. 'Filling her head with all those foolish ideas of becoming a singer, just look at her now . . . look at what you've done . . . 'his voice trailed off as his voice began to shake with unconcealed emotion.

Joe's mother raised her hand as if to slap him, but instead burst into tears. Momenterily forgetting her husband's accusations, she reached across the table to grasp her daughter's hand.

'Please . . . Joe . . . live for us,'� she pleaded squeezing her hand tightly.

. . . why does no one understand me?






Tell me . . .

Why is it so bright?

For some strange reason the question was the first on Joes mind as she began to wake. The bed sheets felt crisp and uncomfortable against her skin as she stirred sleepily. Her skin looked flushed, with a waxy sheen of perspiration on her forehead and her moth felt dry and cracked.

She thought she heard the beeping of her alarm clock and she wanted to reach out her hand to turn it off, but for some reason she couldn't even get her numb hands off the side of the bed to pound the button. She decided she must have slept on it again. She really hated when that happened.

Eyes still closed she yawned still wandering at why the room was so bight. She must have forgotten to close the shades again. Or else maybe her mum had opened them trying to wake her up for school. She started to groan, but nothing except a slight wheeze escaped from between her lips. She turned her head a bit, trying to adjust to the thin hard pillow and suddenly felt a shearing pain sear through her body. After a moment in which she lay stock still she began to realise her whole body was aching, her arms more so, as they throbbed with every movement of her wrists. She couldn't ever remember waking up in the morning feeling so groggy. What was happening?

Starting to panic Joe knew she just had to open her eyes no mater how much they were fighting her. She forgot about the binding light and willed her eyes to push open. Slowly, but surely Joe managed to crack open her eyes and adjust them to the bright lights in the room. All of a sudden she was surrounded by a world of white, white lights, white walls, and white sheets.

Where am I?

No longer able to ignore the dull pain in her arms, Joe dropped her gaze to her arms. Her eyes widened in shock and a gasp caught in her throat when she saw that both her arms were wrapped in blood soaked bandages. One bandage had come loose from her restlessness allowing her too see a long dark welt on her wrist.
A wave of nausea swept through her body, and gulping loudly, Joe turned her face away from the ghastly sight. Slowly as if creeping upon her like an unpleasant dream, she began to remember what she had done and why she was here.
Had she . . . . had she tried to take her own life?

. . . why can't I escape?




The day Joe was diagnosed with throat cancer she had felt the world around her crumble. She had dreamed of a tomorrow, but now that her present had been brutally destroyed, the only thing she could do was glance longingly back at the seeds of yesterday. She wanted to live . . . she wanted to sing, yet something was preventing her from doing both these things. That something cast her outside that cloak of music that had surrounded her ever since the time she had got on a stage and sung, leaving her feeling lost, alone and naked without its protective comfort.

So absorbed in her thoughts Joe did not notice the little girl who had been watching her quite curiously until she sat down on the swing next to her. The chains creaked and Joe lifted her head, using the sleeves of her sweatshirt to brush away the tears.

'Hi,' the girl said, her eyes for a moment flickering over Joe's tear streaked face. Her eyes widened in child like curiosity and she opened her mouth as though she was about to say something, but creasing her small forehead into a frown, did not.

Joe mumbled back a hi and watched at the corner of her eyes as the girl stuck out her tongue between her teeth in deep concentration and tried to move the swing. Her stubby little legs kicked out insistently, but lacked any sort of rhythm and the swing jerked forward once or twice yet did not swing. The girl however looked determined to work the swing, and held on tightly through all the violent tosses and turns the swing was doing from her violent kicking.

Joe smiled a little to herself and slowly released her hold on the swings chains and jumped off. Her legs felt jelly-like and numb from having sat down for such a long time, but she ignored the tingly feeling as she confronted the girl.

'I'll push you,'� she said simply, grabbing the back of the girl's seat
'Really?'� the girl asked with widened eyes. She smiled wildly the dimples in her left cheek suddenly becoming more apparent.

Joe nodded. She gave her swing a slight push then stepped back quickly as it came swinging back. The girl let out a squeal of delight as she sailed into the summer sky. Joe pushed her harder, but not too hard for she did not want to rock the frame, which was starting to creak loudly.

After a while she stopped pushing, and watched silently as just like she had a moment ago, the girl come back down to earth. When the swing had completely stopped moving, the girl half swiveled around to look at Joe, pink cheeked and smiling. 'It felt like I was flying,'� she exclaimed in childish delight. 'I wish i could fly,'� she sighed then jumped off the swings, landing unsteadily on her feet.

'Yea'�, Joe replied, stuffing her hands into her pockets and gazing up into the sky. 'Me too . . . just like a beautiful bird.'�

'Or like an aero plane,'� the girl said squinting up at the sky. She spun, her dress twirling around her and laughed. 'Tomorrows my eigith birthday,'� she declared proudly, holding up eight fingers. 'My mummy said that if I wish hard enough for something it will come true, so i'm gonna wish for wings,'� she paused stretching out her hands as far as they could reach. 'This big . . . '

Wish for something hard enough . . .

Joe suddenly froze, regarding the girl with a new outlook as she babbled off a list of things she was going to wish for. 'And for my eight birthday, i'm gonna wish for a motorbike, that's way faster than my brother Dannie's and so fast I could enter the Olympics with it.'�

The Olympics? Joe giggled. This girl already had her future in perspective. The future. Joe had been so locked up in the present and the past she hadn't even bothered to ponder the possibility of a future. Maybe it was because deep down she was afraid that she might not have . . . a future?

The little girl suddenly stopped talking when a woman's voice called loudly from behind the swing park. Pouting, at having have her interesting conversation cut short she tuned to Joe and said. 'Mummy's calling, I have to go now,'� she turned and started to run off but stopped to turn back around to wave at her 'Thanks for pushing me, 'she yelled, cupping her hands around her mouth, and then started running again, her little feet pounding against the fallen leaves.

Please somebody tell me, Joe's mind whispered as she stared after the girl. Why did this happen to me? Slowly, she felt the veil over her mind and eyes begin to lift and she was hit by the sudden rush of realty, as a voice for the first time answered her silent pleas.
To strengthen your character.

Tell me . . . why do I have to lose the one thing that's so important tome?

Maybe you haven't lost it. Maybe it's right here . . . in front of you but you can't find it.

Tell me . . . why does no one understand me?

You don't even understand you're self.

Tell me . . . why can't I escape?

Because you don't wish to escape.

Tell me . . . . what am I supposed to do now?

Live.

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