Des Choses Oubliées
Of Forgotten Things
Night after night the patients of the SilverShield Hospital wormed their way into sleep. Even dealing with whatever ghastly conditions they were in (for the SSH was devoted to only the most severe cases) SilverSheild had a way of reassuring, and the patients generally found themselves sleeping peacefully.
But patient #4776 was not sleeping peacefully- not in the least.
His forehead was slick with sweat as he tossed and turned his small hospital bed. He was crying- though it appeared that the tears he let flow only helped strangle him, rather that relieve him of his pain. His room was not quiet by a long shot- for his bed shuddered with the force of his sobs.
When he finally woke- it was to the sensation of near asphyxiation.
Gasping deeper and deeper breaths he swallowed the phlegm that had made it's way into his throat. Coughing out still more sobs his frame shuddered.
Where was he?
Why did he feel so claustrophobic?
He couldn't remember…
And then he glanced around- seeing the white curtains bordering his bed, and inhaling the thick chemical smell that hung in the air like a thick fog. With a sickening jolt, he remembered.
The years rushed back to him. The announcements. His leukemia. The chemo. The coma. And now… what happened now?
He looked around more carefully and realized that this room was different then the one he had originally fallen asleep in. The flowery wallpaper that was meant to comfort had been changed to some sort of putrid yellow, and the flowers that had littered his bedside were long gone.
It was only then that he wondered how long he had been under. Gazing down at his arm, he was startled by the utter frailty, and the IV poking out of his wrist, illuminating the blue veins.
"Oh god…" He murmured to himself. "Oh good god…"