It was New Year's Eve and Aaron Morrell was thinking about the end of the world. He stood alone in the terminal care ward of Elias Percival Jr. Hospital, surrounded by twenty rhythmically beeping machines connected to twenty half-dead bodies. Samantha Jones, 43, lung cancer. Darien Murray, 63, third stroke, paralysis on the left side. Jan Mistry, 52, car accident. Bianca Lefroy, 21, coma. Aaron Morrell, 23, suffering from chronic med-school and an all-consuming internship. Currently popping anti-depressants and watching fireworks explode above strangers' heads on TV, drinking cider instead of champagne, sitting in a room filled with half-dead bodies instead of a frat house party. So this is success. Aaron Morrell had worked so hard for this. For this. Twenty three years of straight As and all-nighters and kissing up to end here.
The hospital bells chimed electronically.
Ding dong.
Happy New Year. Congratulations for surviving. Almost-Dr. Aaron Morrell raised his plastic cup to the fluorescent lights and poured the cold, sickly-sweet liquid down his throat, wishing for the familiar burn of alcohol.
Ding dong.
The cider coated his esophagus with a thick layer of corn syrup, restricting the already reluctant air.
Ding dong.
Sensations, that's all there was to life, sensations. Another year of med school, the scratch of blue scrubs on his skin, the squeak of clean white tennis shoes on the linoleum floors. Another year of cramming and professors and the occasional party that everyone regretted later, the yes Doctor Sir and no Doctor Sir and the filthy stink of bedpans – no, surely he'd have graduated from bedpans by then – of staring through the closed eyes of the dying and the dead, popping those antidepressants and wondering when he'd be able to get a life, meet somebody, be somebody.
Ding Dong.
He stared into the impassive face of Bianca Lefroy, watched her chest move ever so slightly as tubes pumped air into her lungs. Bianca Lefroy, 21 years old, comatose after an allergic reaction to peanuts. He knew the symptoms: surprise, followed by redness, swelling, gasping for air as the blood flow restricts, blacking out as you go into anaphylactic shock. Two minutes and brain function gone.
Ding dong.
Bianca Lefroy was twenty-one years old with no hope for a future other than lying there, machines doing the hard work of living. It sounds peaceful, thought Aaron as his brain twirled, colors blurring in the periphery of his vision. Sensations, that's it. Sensations. And Bianca Lefroy will have no more sensations. Aaron Morrell felt that he was going insane. The electronic heartbeat pounded against his skull. He leaned over the serene, dead face and pressed his lips against the surprisingly warm and yielding flesh. "Happy New Year."
Ding Dong. Twelve bells. Midnight.
Floating in self-induced stupor, Aaron almost thought he saw Bianca's eyes flutter open as he staggered upright, and in this moment of uncharacteristic emotional tenderness his soul was branded with those imagined dark orbs, contrasting fiercely with the pale skin and bleached-blonde hair. He shuffled to the other side of the room, head spinning. I shouldn't have done that. Doctor-Patient protocol, hygienic codes, my degree, my job. He crept back to the bedside, feeling unnaturally scared and at the same time foolish for his fear. Bianca Lefroy lay deathly still on her bed, machine heart beating, chest moving ever so slightly up and down as tubes pumped air into her lungs, eyes closed.
Almost-doctor Aaron Morrell chuckled nervously to himself. Nothing happened. No breach of protocol, no miracle. "We'll keep this between us, eh?" he asked the dead body with a conspiratorial smile.
Squeaking in the hallway heralded the head nurse's return for the night shift. "Charming, you still here? Get yourself home, nice young man like you should be partying on New Year's."
Aaron faked a smile. "Yes Ma'am." He grabbed his duffle bag and squeaked out of the room. He reached in the pockets for the antidepressants but pulled out an energy drink instead. The caffeine helped clear his mind as he drove down the highway towards his apartment. Twenty more minutes. Fireworks exploded in the night sky, the smoke obscuring the stars, replacing the familiar twinkling lights with bursts of red and gold. Aaron found himself in the parking lot in front of his unit and wondered briefly how he got there. He fell onto his bed without brushing his teeth or taking off his shoes, welcoming the rest after a week that averaged four hours of sleep. The last thing he remembered before drifting off was a pair of open dark eyes on a dead girl's face.