Estimated reading time — 3 minutes
I barely noticed as a fiery sky descended into oblivion consisting of twinkling, miniscule suns and as the sounds of the hospital dimmed to the ticks of clocks and the beeps of machines. I just lay in that bed, trying to make sense of my thoughts. As the drugs to numb the pain pump through my veins, I could feel my mind slipping away; its clarity hiding behind fog. Like paint being brushed onto a turbulent canvas, I knew the portrait I wanted to make, but every thought was scattered and unrecognizable. For hours, I stared at the casts around one of my legs and around one of my arms, and the lead pipe protruding from my chest just a few inches from my heart and into my right lung.
Weeks have passed since the accident. The doctors are petrified, mired in inaction. I debate whether they are not experienced in dealing with my condition or want to extort as much money out of my parents as they can. They do not even have the decency to check on me anymore. I have not seen any glimpse of human life except for the occasional nurse that comes to empty the tubs containing my waste, to feed me, to refill the medicines, or to check on the machines. I have been reduced to nothing more than a vegetable.
There are times that the empting of morphine reminds me that I am alive, but it’s not because I have regained some semblance of thought; it’s because the pain… t-the pain causes me to languish in crucifixion. This is my pandemonium – my ultimatum. I can bask in the limbo of having no pain and no thought or to regain my humanity, but I have to writhe in perennial anguish. Unfortunately, I have no decision in the matter. I cannot bear to be subject to the whim of nurses and medicines. One thought burst through the wall of ambiguity that the medicines had so brazenly enacted: I wanted to die. I wanted to end this miserable actuality. This could not be classified as “living” anymore. Distraught at my realization and having no way to kill myself, I closed my eyes to sleep. Troubled and disturbed, I found no repose. Silence was my only virtue, my only companion. My heart started to hasten. It was this moment of placidity, that I had the distinct feeling of dread. The hospital was usually in an uproar of ambience and random occurrences of commotion.
Opening my eyes, I was immediately fixated on the figure standing… no, floating outside my room. Its gaunt, tall face and grey, dismal and deep set eyes were offset by blackened, cracked lips. Clad in a tight-fitting, tattered robe it almost looked human except for the claws it clicked together to taunt me. All sound returned in an upheaval as this creature took a step onto the white, tiled floors. I was completely helpless as it advanced towards me. The casts and IVs impeded movement, while the tubes that helped me breathe and put food into my stomach muffled my attempts at screaming.
It is almost as if this thing knew just how impotent I was, for it smiled, causing blood to peek out from the cracks of its lips as I struggled minutely. I am doubtful that if I wasn’t powerless that it would have not shown itself to me. If I had any grain of strength to my name, it would have taken me during my sleep. It was, after all, the perfect hunter: silent, unremorseful, and knew exactly when humans were their most exposed – in their slumber.
When its outreached hand was laid onto the bare skin above my heart I could feel life draining from me. My eyes grew heavy, breathe eluded me, and my heart loitered to an almost dead stop. In that instant as I died I knew it had come to relieve me of my suffering. Not because I asked, but because as it drained life from me its lips began to heal, its eyes brightened, and its once pale skin returned to a healthy color.
It had come to relieve me to cure its self.
Credit To: Zack W.