I can't remember what it felt like to breathe without a machine. I've been hooked up to this medicine so long, barely conscious, that I've forgotten what I'm missing. Sometimes, after I rest, when I have just enough strength to open my eyes, I see that beautiful doctor. His skin his pale, and his eyes are the strangest golden color. He scares me, just like I scare myself. Nobody ever cleaned the blood off of my arm or my face. Maybe its because most of my bones there are broken, sliced in half, or merely torn to shreds. When I can bear to listen to their conversations, I hear that I will never recover.
I'm tired now, though, too tired to open my eyes, too disoriented to strain my ears enough to hear their sick conversations about my rapid decline, and how they know I'm going to die, and soon. It doesn't take a doctor, or my brain surgeon, to know I'm going to die. Once when my eyes cracked open, I saw part of my nose, or what should have been my nose. Instead, there was nothing but a twisted bloody mess. I saw where my ribs should have been, too. They were gone, completely smashed, and splintered into my punctured lungs. They knew there was no way to keep me alive and off of any machines, and there was no way that I'd ever breathe on my own again. I knew that my life was over.
Then, I woke up. Mostly because of the pain I know felt. Its not supposed to be like this, dying. I think I'm lying in a coffin already, and I think that they just shut it. I want to scream, I want to scream so badly that my lungs burn, but I can't, because I can't even breathe. I'm alive. I'm alive, but now I'm going to spend my entire, weird, unspeaking, no-breathing life in this box buried ten feet under. I want to sleep now. I really do. But I can't. I'm wide-awake. I'm energized, and ready for action. But I won't move. There's too much pain everywhere. I wish my doctor, my pretty, demon doctor, would save me.
And then, I remembered.
Sorry about the short chapter but the next one will be VAIR long. Please review. Please?