I looked into his eyes...

And he stared back into mine. Little Timmy had once had the most beautiful blue eyes in the entire world, but they had turned grey and swollen. He coughs several times, his hand raising halfway to his mouth not possessing the required strength to make the full journey. His skin, once bronzed with the heathy complexion of a child whom spent the majority of his time outside with the other kids in his neighbourhood, had turned sickly and pale. He explained not too long ago that the sun only causes him discomfort now, it's intense rays growing heavier and heavier on his fragile body.

His blonde hair had receded gradually the way a man's thrice his age would. His parents would find it the hardest part of the disease, each beautiful blonde strand slowly finding themselves falling gracefully from his pale scalp. He had always been a talkative 10 year old, his words racing just a quicky as his mind would from topic to topic. Those days ended a few months ago. As he ate less and less his throat gradually shrunk and dried, so much so that he found it near impossible to speak, only expressing a few words ever since his conditioned worsened.

The corner of his mouth began to quiver. Another few coughs took the place of his words. I place my hand on his chest as he began to fidget in his bed. The slow beeping of the monitor next to his bed had replaced the silence of his suffering, the methodical drip of the morphine numbed any excruciating pain, but from the look on poor Timmy's face it was only helping so much. I looked to his bed. I wondered how many other children had spent their final moments in the same bed, in crippling pain. He tries again to speak, contorting his face showing the unimaginable pain beneath his cancer. I tell him to rest. He seems determined, tears welling up in his eyes. 'W..ww..why?'

I am shocked. Overwhelmed that he has managed to form a coherent word. My eyes are tearing up as well.
'Ww..why?'
'Why what Timmy?' I scream at the top of my lungs, gently shaking his chest as if to remove the words by force.
'Why?' He repeats. His heart rate had risen higher than it had in months. I could see he was about to say something. I lean forward.
'Why did I watch One Chance?' He says, using all of his energy. His eyes slowly closing as unconsciousness becomes him.
The days after he saw One Chance he complained of a pain in his chest. The weeks after seeing One Chance he had been diagnosed with lung and throat cancer. The months after seeing One Chance, after complaining of headaches, several inoperable tumours had been identified throughout the cranium. Around a year after seeing One Chance Little Timmy will have died in his sleep, surrounded by people that loved him.

This story was true. It has been confirmed by experts within the field of medical science that One Chance is terrible enough give small children cancer. Spread the word.