• Liam had lived the first five years of his life like any average boy his age. He had a rather lanky build, and was slightly shorter and thinner than most children his age. His ceaseless energy flow never ebbed, which made up for his size, because he was always much more active than all of the other children at his preschool. He loved each day when class was outside and would always be hanging upside-down from the monkey bars, running up slides, or climbing on the jungle-gym.
    At home, Liam was almost always hungry, and voiced his opinion loudly, which his parents had become inured to over time. He had a voracious appetite, and would moan for peanut-butter and banana sandwiches, or macaroni and cheese with ketchup, his two favorite foods. He had an equally hungry metabolism though, and never stopped burning Calories around the house. One of his favorite past-times was to build things, usually great towers of colorful Legos in the living room, or little stick-and-leaf villages in the backyard. Once he finished each tower or city, he would show it off to his parents. Liam would be beaming with pride, but his eyes held a sinister look, for the fate of the city-goers and the villagers was always the same. Each city was battered and disassembled by the fearsome “Liam-zilla,” the nickname given to him as he crunched through the miniature civilizations, letting out mock growls of giant lizards.
    Liam's defining talent though was his appreciable ability to paint. Liam's parents were never really the artistic type, but Liam's ability to express himself through art was highly exceptional and everyone who saw his art realized it. He would sit and watch the news with his dad every morning, and would take some image that stuck with him and paint it later on. His paintings were abstract, but
    images were discernible, and the colors just mixed so well that it looked like the art of someone at least
    twice his age, maybe even three times as old.
    One stormy afternoon, while Liam's parents were in the next room working on paying taxes and such, Liam suddenly went silent in the other room. Even though he usually sang while painting, his parents didn't think too much of it, but his father still went to check on him, just to make certain everything was all right. The moment he walked into the room, he noticed something horribly wrong, and yelled for his wife to call 9-1-1 immediately, for Liam was on the ground, his body wracked with the spasms of a seizure.
    At the hospital, Liam recovered from the incident, and the doctors performed a CT scan, but found no traces of abnormality. Liam was taken home later the next day, and didn't have another seizure for the next year, but his parents noticed the changes. He often complained of headaches, and his paintings changed as a result of his vision blurring slightly over time. He fell often at the playground, which was unusual compared to the cat-like grace he had before the seizure. Liam also became strangely impetuous toward the end of that year, and would have uncontrollable bouts of anger, brought on by the slightest agitation. Each time he would lash out at his parents, something he rarely did a year ago, and would always end his fits crying hysterically, cradled in his mother's arms.
    Liam's parents were becoming fed up with these unexplained changes, and, a month later, as they scheduled another periodic visit to the doctor, Liam had a second seizure, and his second trip to the Emergency room. Liam's parents asked for another CT scan to be performed, hoping the nature of this terror inside of Liam would be evinced. It was, sadly, and the doctor solemnly explained to Liam's parents that he had a severe case of brain cancer, which had manifested itself in a tumor roughly the size of a golf ball deep within Liam's brain.
    Liam spent the next week in the hospital, while his parents debated what action should be taken. The only way to remove the tumor was to remove half of Liam's brain with it, and remove his creativity that defined him. The doctors were conducive and comforting through the hardship, as were
    all of Liam's relatives. Aunts, uncles, and cousins from out of state were staying in a hotel nearby, for this event had become the paramount of their time, prayer filled their schedule, and hope overflowed from their hearts.
    Liam slipped into a coma about three days later, and, unbeknownst to everyone around him, dreamt a dream unlike any other. He rode on the back of a giant, blue dragon, soaring over hills and cities, receiving welcomed cheers from the sea of people below. He visited every country he had heard about on the news, from Canada to Brazil, Korea to Ireland, Russia to Madagascar – Liam was never a provincial child. His last stop was in his backyard, where everyone he knew and loved was there, awaiting his arrival with open arms. The dragon landed easily, and gently lifted Liam off of it's back with its gargantuan maw. It then retracted its massive wings, and sat down in the grass behind Liam. Walking toward his mother, Liam thought he saw an oddly familiar face in the background, but was unsure. As Liam spread his arms to hug his mother, she stepped aside, and everyone else followed, revealing the familiar face to be a young, healthy version of Liam's deceased grandfather. Liam walked toward his grandfather, pulled by some unknown impetus, and spread his arms to embrace his grandfather. Liam's grandfather hugged him close, pressing him to his chest, then lifted him onto his shoulders. They walked toward the house, away from the dragon and all of Liam's still-living relatives, including his parents. Liam didn't understand at first, and tried to reach out, but his grandfather stopped him, stating “This is it Liam, it's time for you to come with me now.” With that, Liam understood fully, and held close to his grandfather's strong shoulders as the entered his house. A bright, white light followed, and that was the last thing Liam saw.
    In the hospital, Liam's father was talking to the doctor about their decision to cancel the surgery, and let Liam choose his path. Liam had chosen, and as his mother sat beside his bed clutching his hand, the tears steadily running down her cheeks, Liam's heartbeat slowed, and stopped.