I broke into a run. Instinctively, I broke into a sprint. I don’t think I’ve ever ran that fast. I don’t think my stunted legs have ever allowed me to run at such a speed, to a place unbeknownst even to me. Because I just ran. My vision was blurry, my heart was beating rapidly against the chest of a girl I couldn’t remember; the chest of a version of me I thought would dissipate into nothingness. A happy chest. A series of quick, heavy breaths bursting through my mouth, my boots clicking on the pavement, tears welling up in my once-tragic eyes, as I ran. They called, and I heard, but I didn’t listen. They called my name, but I couldn’t stop. I needed to tell someone the news, even if that person was my friend in the mirror; my companion in the hardships.

For years, I wasn’t the same person I once used to be. My name is Emily, but for the past six years, I’d been known as the Bald Girl. I lost my hair to a vicious murderer…you may know them. They have a name; it has a name: Cancer. Cancer discovered my body when I was only ten years old, and decided to live inside it, taking no heed of the damage it was causing. I suffered. Physically and mentally, I suffered. I lost Emily, because Emily was happy and beautiful, whereas I…I wasn’t the same. I was broken. My frequent visits to the hospital made me too occupied for friends. My plain scalp frightened those around me. I was ostracised for being a victim of a cruel monster. My body and mind, in turmoil and desperation, simultaneously deteriorated.

I remember every needle that sunk into my spotty skin. I remember every cry I let erupt into the vacant corridors of a place flooded by a nostalgic scent of antiseptics and…death. I remember every time I craved death, for the pain to go away. I remember, and I was not to forget.

Yesterday. Yesterday was not another day in my monotonous, sick life. Yesterday was not a sick day. Yesterday was special. I had an appointment with a doctor at 2:30pm, Clinic 7. My second home- the hospital, that is. I left at 2:00pm for Clinic 7. I was told there was news. I was oblivious of what would unfold, but the news was more perplexing to me than anything I’ve encountered.

I reached the hospital at 2:25pm, extending my journey to Clinic 7. The wind blew through the tiniest gaps in the windows that rattled in their frames, producing a delicate whistle. The air was cold on my bare head. 2:26pm, the door was only a few metres away. I halted in my tracks, and thought for just a second, what if it’s terminal?

A chill rushed through me. I shivered, and it wasn’t just the still coldness of the building that caused it. 2:28pm, I was at the threshold, staring blankly at nothing, a prisoner of my thoughts, dread dripping from me. I waited. 2:30pm, the door flew open, and there stood Dr Fossil, clipboard in hand, his white coat hung around his shoulders loosely. I took a step closer, intending to enter the all-too-familiar room, but he stopped me with a hand against my chest, feeling every pump of my heart beating against it.

“Don’t be scared,” he comforted. “I just thought I’d let you know that you’re free.”

My eyes widened in disbelief as hope rapidly burst through me. I held my trembling hand to my quivering lips, and tentatively shook my head. Could it really be true?

His lips curled into a smile, and so did mine, as tears came streaming down my reddened cheeks. It was true. I broke free. My heart danced to a tune of freedom, relief- joy. Happiness. Yes. I was now allowed to truly live, rather than merely survive.

Cancer was a challenge. The worst. But I accepted, and I won.

And that was when I ran.