There's only one thing worse than the sensation of dying: the pain you feel when you're forced back. Like a rude awakening I was plucked from eery warmth and thrown back into a body being attacked by electric pulses. I felt my heart slam painfully against my ribs, trying far harder than it should have been to keep me alive. I almost liked the nothingness better. Almost.
I felt something press down in my chest; a foreign object that burned with its intrusion. I could do nothing about it. My body was motionless. My mind was numb. All I could register was the feelings and God they were awful.
I felt myself slipping away again, not into an abyss or the cozy tunnel of nonexistence from before but into an uncomfortable drugged sleep. The morphine must have kicked in because soon enough all I felt was pressure: the pressure to live, breath and make my heart beat.
Ba-bump, ba-bump, ba-bump, ba-bump.
That was a little bit better.
A twister of white coats and mint green scrubs surrounded me as I wailed. From dawn to dusk, dusk to dawn, I screamed bloody murder in that blank sheeted bed that was always a little too cold.
"Calm down Loraine!" Dad yelled over the sound of medical mutterings and beeping machines. "Let them do their job!"
"I can't," Mom would sob, leaning into his chest, trying to muffle her weeping. "My baby...I just can't..."
A lot of words were thrown around in those early days: morphine, stop, open heart surgery, money. But I never understood any of it. All I knew was that I was in pain and I wanted it to go away.
Some nights I would wake up feeling a burn in my chest because my pulse had temporarily decided to stop. Other times it would be headaches and nightmares from lack of blood flow to my brain. My Mom would always be there, pale and wrinkled with stress, to call a doctor and try to soothe me.
Months went by and things got no better. I was still in just as much pain but now I didn't even have the energy to scream. Every bit of fight I had left in me was focused towards keeping my heart going. I'd lie in bed, fatigued, sweating just listening to it. Every pump was strained, every beat a miracle. I wasn't sure whether I was blessed to still be alive or cursed to be in this state.
As life went on coats and scrubs continued to whirl around me. Sometimes I could see them clearly, sometimes they were just blurs. My mother would always cry when she thought the doctors would drown her out. Her tears became louder and louder as Dad began to stand farther and farther away from her. His shirt would muffle her sobs no more. He just stood in the corner now, silent, distant. Those were my good days.
It was on one of those days, after the flurry of check ups and my parents went to work, when I first met him: Matt. He was a hedgehog, blonde quills, blue eyes, the warmest smile a guy could have and just a bit of a nerd. Needless to say I developed a school girl crush on first sight. Looking back I know he was way too old for me, I was twelve and he was going into college, but I didn't care. He did more for me than anyone else could ever do. He made me happy for the first time in months. What girl would be able to help it in that situation?
One of the nurses brought Matt into my room, on my councillor's orders. It was no secret to anybody that I wasn't doing too well, mentally speaking. They thought another cancer patient with a more optimistic outlook would do me good. They were right; it did.
Matt occupied my empty hours of agony whenever he was well enough to come over. We'd spend hours reading, watching movies, talking about how things were going. At the end of every day he'd ruffle my hair, get up and say the same thing.
"Keep fighting, kid."
I'd always laugh when he said it. It was such a common phrase, "fighting cancer." I found it funny because I really didn't have a choice. It's not like I got up every morning, put on armor and marched into a battlefield. It was nothing too brave. Brave would be if I was at peace with the possibility of dying. What I was doing was just living in defiance of a sickness I had no control over. Sure, it was hard but not anything like a battle. No, it was more like a rebellion. I was a stubborn peasant who didn't want the strong King Cancer feeding on my resources anymore. I knew my Cancer might never fully die but at least it could be overthrown.
Matt realized this too. He was going through the same problems with his lungs that I went through with my heart. He knew we didn't go to war for some saintly cause. We just wanted to live full lives. We held firm to the hope that someday we could. Well, at least he did. I kind of just expected every thing would turn out okay. The universe didn't agree with that plan.
"...Mmm..." I moaned and rolled over in bed as daylight rudely hit my face.
Why did Mom always open the curtains this early? Couldn't she leave a note and just let me sleep? I sighed, realizing that wasn't an option. She wanted me awake. She never knew which goodbye could be a last.
"How long was I out?" I asked, stretching like a star fish and letting my eyes flutter open.
I looked around. I was in a recovery room, not an emergency one. The surgery must have gone well with the exception of that one revival. I internalized my thoughts and did a little self check up. My chest hurt a little bit and I was tired, which was to be expected. I'd say this was one of my better times, pain wise.
"Just a day this time," she answered, walking over from the curtains and lifting my pillows up so I could sit up against them comfortably. "The doctor says things went well and that the tumour's been contained. If the recovery goes just as smoothly you'll be home in three or four days."
I cringed at the mention of the tumour, even in an okay light, and quickly tried to avert the subject. "Do you have my stuff?"
Mom gave me a knowing smile and pointed to the end of my bed. A black, thick, cloth computer bag sat there. "Your kobo and laptop are right over there if you need them."
I let out a deep breath and nodded. "Thanks, Mom."
"You're welcome, sweetie." Mom said, leaning over. Her hand swiped stray quills away from my forehead and she kissed the newly bare skin. "I'm off to work. Call me if anything happens, otherwise, I'll see you tonight at six, 'kay?"
"Okay."
"I love you," Mom told me. Every time she said it I sensed a break in her voice symbolic of some conscious decision not to cry. At least she could choose now. Bursting into tears was a common practice for her in the early stages.
"I love you too."
With that she was up and out of the room leaving me alone. I was used to it now. Whether I was alone at home or here in a hospital I'd be okay. I'd just sleep and study the day away. No big deal.
I looked at the computer bag, reaching over to grab the shoulder strap and pull it closer. Unzipping the bag I found my kobo and laptop just where Mom promised they would be. I smiled and took the latter out, opening it up on my lap and connecting to the free internet. Checking my online courses would probably be the most productive thing to do at the moment. I'd catch some rest later.
I logged on to my school site and scrolled through my courses until I came to my favourite. Honours English was staring me dead in the face. What did it have for me today? I clicked it, watching as a new page loaded at a painfully slow pace. That's the thing about free internet, you always have to share.
When the page was finally up I saw that the teacher had posted that new assignment he had been talking about, the book report. I scrolled through the approved list just a bit unimpressed. It was your typical stuff: Pride and Prejudice, Jane Eyre, To Kill a Mocking Bird, just to name a few. I got that these things were classics for a reason but did they have to make it so completely generic? This list was predictable, to say the least.
I sighed. There was only one book on here that I had not read and that would be...Dracula. Maybe. I mean, there was a lot of controversy about the book and its possible horror commentary on human sexuality. I'd have to read for myself to truly know what I thought about that, though. Either way, it was probably what I'd end up picking. Nothing else really caught my eye.
With that I logged out and went straight to YouTube. I didn't have to get started right away. The project was simple enough for me to wait awhile. Besides, what better way was there to spend a bed rest than watching mindless, mentally crippling cute cat videos? Oh, pussy cat, you are so silly.
"So, how've you been?" Matt asked turning his attention away from the kitten on my laptop pawing at a mirror.
I hushed him, making sure to catch all ten minutes of catty cuteness.
He laughed at me. "You realize that every second you watch this is another brain cell you lost, right?"
I looked over at him, chuckling about my video habits. Why did I let him get away with that jab? Oh, yeah, he was gorgeous. Plus the fact that he was my only friend. No one from school had come to visit me, not even the people I thought were my best friends. He was all I had; him and his friendly jabs.
I don't think I want to watch cat videos anymore.
I closed the laptop and inhaled unevenly. Matt, I didn't think of him the same way I used to. It was kind of ridiculous that I ever saw him like that at all. Now I felt like he was my big brother. I wanted him here, now, by my side. I missed him.
"Keep fighting, kid."
I'm trying. I really am. But how can I fight, rebel, live when I know that even you couldn't? How does anyone have a chance when Matt didn't? I sniffled and closed my eyes. No, you're not doing this today, Amy. It's your lazy recovery day. I should enjoy it.
"Miss Rose?"
I jumped, looking over at the door. One of the nurses stood there. She was young and smiling. The young smiling ones were always the clumsiest, but for the purpose of hospitality they usually excelled.
"Uh, yeah?" I responded, embarrassed that I had been caught wrestling with myself.
She smiled broadly at me, obviously baring good news. "You have a visitor here to see you."
"Is it my Dad?" He came every once in a while with my half siblings. His wife always stayed at home. Apparently she didn't like me. That was alright. I felt no different about her.
Her eyes shone as she shook her head. "No, it's someone from Wishing Well."
What?
"I told him he could just come in after I spoke with you. Is that alright?"
"Um...sure. But why-"
"I'll go get him!" She practically squealed, as though she was the one they were coming for, and skipped off to get him.
I sat there, utterly confused. Wishing Well, the charity that made sick kids' dreams come true. I had sent for them when I was thirteen, after my parents' divorce and Matt's death, it had been a rough time, but they never answered or sent anyone. Why would they be here now, when I had been at my healthiest in years? Plus there was the fact that I was seventeen. Didn't they usually focus on the younger kids?
Something about this was wonky.
"Right this way," the nurse ushered some guy into my room. She was so enthusiastic. This must have been her first time witnessing a Wishing Well wish.
The guy walked in and stopped in his track as soon as he saw me. He had this look on his face as though he was expecting something different. He looked shocked, confused and like he had been foiled in some sort of plan. How odd.
"Are you Amy Rose?" He asked, hands on hips, looking at me as though I had committed a crime.
"Yes, I am. Who the Hell are you?"
He groaned, looking back towards the nurse accusingly. She seemed just as stunned as me. "Your wish agent."
"My what?"
"Miss Rose, if you want I could ask him to-"
He turned and gave her another look to shut her up before turning back to me.
"I'm Sonic," he answered, smiling like a bitter socialite. "I'm here to make all your wishes come true."
Hi! I should probably introduce myself. I'm Navy Quill, Navy for short, and this is my first story. I've been reading stories on FF for quite some time and I thought I'd try my hand at writing one myself.
I hope you enjoyed the first chapter. I would really appreciate any advice you guys have to offer so review if you can. :) Thank you for reading.