Fifteen

By Cate Holness

“They found fifteen this time,” he says.

I can’t help but imagine them, gnawing away at him like microscopic bloodthirsty rodents. All teeth and claws and death.

“What will they do? Are they going to give you some chemo this time or something?”

“I think so. I hadn’t really come round properly when they told me.”

“Do you have any idea when?”

“No.”

There is an awkward silence.

“So, how are you feeling?”

“Fine! Just tired from the anesthetic.”

Such a small conversation. Our last. Hope, stained by fear. I sit and weep, sorting his clothes, his things. Sorting my dad.