I receive the forceful pass from Becks, control the ball with ease before beating two defenders and hammering a curving shot into the top right corner of the net. At fourteen, I was already the youngest player to ever play in a FA Cup final at Wembley. Now, I added youngest scorer to that achievement. The crowd are going wild shouting my name and applauding loudly.

The applause is coming from both sides as I continue to walk up the eighteenth fairway of the Old Course at St. Andrews. I look towards the green and see that I have a putt of less than two feet to win my first Open Championship. The fourteen year old has made yet another piece of sporting history. The putt made, I watch as my name is engraved alongside the true greats of the game.

I walk slowly about, with fellow players and fans all wanting to praise me or just pat me on my back. I enter my school doors to cheers and Lesley Hornby, easily the most beautiful girl at our school, rushes up and kisses me. I pull her naked body onto my bed as we kiss, my hand finding her delightful young breast. We both have that urgency, that urge of millennia. Smiling as I roll on top of her, knowing that my virginity will soon be a thing of the past.

A gentle kiss on my forehead, followed by words of love from my elder sister break the spell as I sit down between my parents to watch a replay of my FA Cup goal. I wonder why they are both crying, is it happiness?

My eyes slowly open as my ephemeral dreams dissipate, soon lost forever. Without needing to move, I can see my parents, their eyes, and those of my sister, swollen from perpetual tears. I try to reassure them but I’m far too tired to even turn my head. I accept that I had just dreamt for the last time. Strangely, I felt happy about it, my year long battle with pain was at an end.

I closed my eyes.

The cancer had won.