Who Wrote 'Cancer As A Social Activity: Affirmations Of World'S End'?

An apocalypse driven by natural disasters. Survival of the fittest. Typhoons, floods, deadly cold, scorching heat, earthquakes, tsunamis, insect plagues, acid rain… After struggling through three years of the apocalypse, Nicole Floyd met a brutal death. Miraculously, she woke up and found herself three days before it all began. Nicole seized the advantage to reclaim her storage space, flipping the switch on full-on stockpiling mode. She shopped until she ran out of money, and her storage was packed tight. She also looked for the dog that had saved her life once before. She sharpened her knives, stacked her supplies, and took care of unfinished business. She paid back every debt, whether owed in blood or in kindness. And then, disaster struck. Her right hand gripping a knife and her left stroking the dog, Nicole pressed on through the ruins of a world without order or morals.

After I am diagnosed with stomach cancer, I ask for some money to buy medicine. I don't want to be in excruciating pain when I die. My three elder brothers rush into the ICU. Andy Lewis—my eldest brother—slaps me hard across my face. He scolds me for ruining his beloved younger sister, Summer Lewis' coming-of-age party. My second brother, Sherman Lewis, calls me a liar. He accuses me of pretending to be sick to swindle money from them. Jimmy Lewis, who is my third brother, calls me useless. He tells me that I deserve to die. My parents, Kenneth Lewis and Autumn Farrow, don't believe that I'm sick. They pin me with looks of contempt and ridicule. "You still haven't stopped that lying habit of yours even though you're all grown up. You even learned how to blackmail us with your death. "If you want to die, do it sooner. It'll spare us from being disgusted when we're forced to look at you day in and day out." I end up dying on the first day of the New Year. Before I breathe my last breath, I send a message to the family group chat. My entire family goes crazy after reading it.

I'm diagnosed with late-stage cancer after undergoing a pre-employment medical checkup. My husband says the medication for my condition is expensive. He also says it can only relieve my pain, not treat the cause. I only have a year to live. Upon my husband's pleading, I agree to do an IVF. I endure the pain and put myself through torture to leave him with a child. However, I overhear him saying the child growing inside me isn't mine—it's his and his lover's. He's the one who wants me dead!

When my wife, Rosalie Wood, had her first meal after she regained consciousness, the attending doctor, Ethan Joeman, took my seat. He cut the steak while he pointed at her rosy face and looked at me with open defiance. “Do you know how medical miracles happen? It is not because of your constant presence. It is because of my in‑depth treatment.” My fingers that held the knife and fork turned pale. Ethan grew even more brazen. His feet rubbed against my wife's calves under the table. “A person in a vegetative state can still feel things. Every night after you left, I did awakening therapy for her. She said her body could not move, yet the sense of being conquered made her feel as though her soul left her body. She woke up because she wanted to feel it again. Last night, she said she wanted to thank her savior and asked me to check her firmness after recovery. She did not disappoint me.” I looked at Rosalie, who stared at the doctor with admiration, and my chest tightened. To pay for her treatment, I sold my house and car. I slept on a folding bed in this hospital for three years. I bathed her and turned her over every day. It turned out that my three years of round‑the‑clock care meant nothing compared to a few acts of harassment committed while she was vulnerable. I took a drug from my bag and smiled as I poured Ethan a glass of wine. I thought, ‘You went through a lot, yet her awakening was only a brief moment of clarity before death. She has super‑drug‑resistant syphilis. Congratulations. You caught it too.’

On the day I'm diagnosed with cancer, my fiance, Alessio Albini, announces his upcoming wedding with his childhood sweetheart, Camelia Germani, in public. Alessio tells me apologetically, "Estella, Camelia is pregnant. Her child mustn't be exposed to the public. That's why I need to grant her a proper wedding." After that, he consoles me patiently. "Once Camelia gives birth to her baby, I'll divorce her right away. Don't worry, Estella. You're the only woman I love." I suppress my grief as I pass Alessio my cancer diagnosis report. "Alessio, I'm dying. I want to marry you before it's time for me to leave this world…" But Alessio rips the report into shreds angrily. Disappointment is written all over his eyes. "I can't believe you actually faked having cancer just to ruin my and Camelia's wedding! You disappoint me, Estella!" With tears streaming down my cheeks, I try to explain myself to Alessio, only to get kicked out of his estate. "Anyway, Camelia will go into labor soon. Don't go triggering her now. Once her baby is born, you may return to the estate." What Alessio doesn't know is that I'm incapable of waiting for Camelia to give birth. After he's done dealing with Camelia and her baby, he starts looking for me all over the world. Unfortunately, I've already left him permanently.

During the three years after I'm diagnosed with a malignant tumor, my husband performs over 30 major surgeries on me so he can keep me around to donate my corneas to his true love. Finally, when she has the courage to face her illness under his encouragement, he follows a doctor's advise and gives up on treating me. I laugh when taking my last breath. He has no idea that the cancer has already spread to my eyes. He won't be transplanting my corneas in his true love's eyes—he'll be planting cancer in her.