I was going to name this as something else but by the time I'd finished writing it I quite liked the obvious title so kept it.
This was born from a prompt that Jamie (ButtonsMagoo) gave me over MSN as we were both bored x) I hope I did it justice, this is dedicated to her of course :)
It's a long oneshot...Got carried away 8-) and I shall be carrying on with my longer stories maybe tomorrow
It flicks from first person to third person, six sections so should be easy to follow I hope. I wasn't sure about posting this at first because it's just so random...(I was listening to Sigur Ros at the time so blame them) but anyway enough from me, enjoy xx
Disclaimer: Everything Boosh is Barratt's and Fielding's
Coma
He seems to be sleeping, that's what everyone else says but I know he isn't. He's never so peaceful when he sleeps; he's always fidgeting. I can always hear him in our bedroom moving about beneath the sheets acting out a dream, now he just lies completely still as if he were the sheets. He's as white as they are too.
I don't know if he can hear me but the nurses say it helps, they suggest reading to him but he never really was a fan of books apart from silly little tales that end in 'and they lived happily ever after'. I don't think he's ever read a proper novel though I could be completely wrong, he's never mentioned them before.
Even when he's in this state his hair still looks perfectly groomed and I haven't touched it because I know how much he hates it when people touch his hair. Bandages sit tightly round his left arm and wrist, he didn't break it thank God but it's still wrapped in that stuff, it still sends shivers down my spine.
A drip hangs from something that resembles a metal coat hanger, I trace the plastic chord with my eyes down toward the bed and into the veins on his hand, they still make me cringe. He's never liked needles and I can't say I'm exactly a fan, I have a fear that when he wakes he might try and rip the drip out or catch it and cause even more damage. How he could cause even more damage I'll never know though.
I've been sat here in this same chair for three weeks now; I've only shifted its place around the bed to stay away from the tangle of wires and plastic drip chords or when a nurse or doctor has come in to examine him. I always shift for them, have to get out of their way so they can do their job and look after their patient.
Sometimes I catch myself thinking out loud and I end up talking to him, asking him if he's alright inside there, making sure he isn't struggling. It never looks like he is but most times when I look at his face then look away I catch a glimpse of a frown but when I look back it's gone instantly.
I wonder if he's all right in there.
Xxx
He hears footsteps approaching him but he can not see anything, he feels a polished floor maybe marble beneath his fingertips. It feels icy and cools his slippery flesh; he tries to sit up but finds it a struggle so rolls gently onto his side. He can feel his eyes shut and tries to pull them open, he doesn't see much only a room that goes on forever lit by nothing he can see but definitely something. The floor glimmers beneath him, sweat gathers on his nose and drips off the end splashing onto the floor, he frowns deeply and blinks rapidly several times trying to clear his blurry vision.
He presses a palm flat onto the floor near his head and pushes with all his remaining body strength; his arm quakes and trembles violently as it pushes him upright until he is sat. His head spins, it throbs and feels as though it is being squeezed, he can not move his left arm it feels achy and hot. He rubs a hand along it and feels cotton beneath; he glances down and sees skin, his own sweating skin.
He dabs at his itching nose and comes away with blood on the back of his hand, his spine burns with pain, his legs flare with stings and his hip feels bruised. He suddenly hears a voice echoing inside his head, he gazes round and catches sight of a figure standing along quite a distance from him, just a silhouette against the marble floor and dark blue walls. He tries to speak to beckon the figure forward to help him but his throat feels blocked, he focuses on his breathing and tries to hold his breath but can't, he realises he isn't even breathing. Something is breathing for him.
He tries to cough, his fingers on his right hand explore his mouth and lips but he finds nothing, only sweating skin and blood from his nose. He stares at the figure, tries to speak again but can't, he feels a sharp twisting pain between his eyes and above his nose, he jumps and tries to pull back trying to escape the sudden discomfort. He tries to bat it away with his good hand but fails, it twists harder drilling into his skull until he can take it no more, his frown deepens as he hears a louder booming voice, a voice that orders, one that is angry, one he recognises.
Xxx
"Stop it! Stop it, you're hurting him, for Godsake!" I cry at the doctor who suddenly removes his pen from in-between Vince's eyes just above his nose.
"He shows no sign of-"
"I know when he hates something and he does not like that! Can't you try something else? Just stop hurting him!"
"If you wish." The Doctor mutters straightening up and placing his pen in the middle of Vince's right palm "If you can hear me, Vince, I want you to grip the pen." There was nothing, the stubborn electro ponce didn't want to grip the doctor's pathetic pen, why couldn't he just let him rest?
"He's tired."
"I'm sorry. Five weeks and still no signs of movement, we'll try again tomorrow as always." I nod once not making eye contact as he leaves; I hate the tests they run. Vince hates them too, I can tell, I still catch glimpses of frowns on his face.
Xxx
He shakes his head as the pain gradually begins to dim until it is a dull ache in his forehead. He stares at the figure, light billows out from behind it suddenly blinding him and distorting his vision, it stumbles closer in a hurry, a hand outstretched. How long has he been here? The pain comes back twisting and pushing it's way through his flesh, picking holes in his skull to get to the soft tissue of the brain. He clutches his head, his left arm burns and cracks as he forces it to move up to grip at his hair, he screws his eyes shut tight, his legs kick out he tries to stop the pain, he tries to get his tormentor to back away from him but nothing works, he kicks and flails about but nothing.
The pain carries on, driving him mad pulling him away from the figure and it's outstretched bony hand, he chokes, he can't breathe, his lungs jump and stutter. He hears beeps, mad deafening beeps that get higher in pitch and closer together, he panics at the sound, it unsettles him. He tries to scream but still something is blocking his throat cutting off his oxygen while trying to push it into his lungs at the same time. His body battles the foreign force trying to take control of it's own organs, he shakes and trembles and crumples to the floor in a sweating suffocating heap.
Xxx
Again with the pen, again with the pain and the look of hurt on Vince's face but this time his limbs move. He kicks at the doctor but feebly, his legs more twitch that kick but I know it's him trying his best to battle the doctor off. Suddenly both his arms fly upwards for his face, one punches the doctor under his chin while the other fumbles for the pen loosely gripping it and pulling it from his forehead. He starts to choke, I can hear him trying to spit the pipes out that are helping him breathe, the doctor slaps the panic button and nurses hurry in attending to Vince in the bed battling for his life.
The tubes come out, the drip is re-attached and an oxygen mask is placed over his face, I bend over the rails on the bed and watch him, his eyelids flutter madly before finally peeling themselves open allowing in the light. I can't help but smile at having my best friend back.
"Hey, hey how you feeling?"
"Am I dreaming?" He asks, he sounds wary, tired and shakey almost as though he's drugged up on some insanely strong drugs.
"No not anymore, you're safe now."
"What happened?"
"You were in a coma for nine weeks."
"I thought I died."
"You nearly did." I half laugh even though it isn't really funny at all, he just looks at me his eyelids begging to close again just after they've only just opened. I reach for his hand and grip it but he doesn't grip back, I feel him try, I feel his fingers twitch in mine trying feebly to hold my hand "It's okay." I assure him "It'll take time. I'll help you every step of the way."
Xxx
His head feels as though it is about to explode, he hits the floor, the marble cools him again. His eyes shut, the figure disperses into the air and disappears along with the light leaving him in total darkness, the beeps grow louder, now he can breathe properly, he opens his eyes again expecting darkness but this time seeing light.
White light.