Running Up That Hill
A crowd had rapidly gathered around the scene. Women screaming in fright, men lifting their hands heavenwards, phone calls being made to get an ambulance, the police, anyone…
Blood, so much of it flowing sluggishly over the misshapen car, broken glass everywhere and that lifeless body lying over it like a broken doll. Was it really possible for a human being to have so much blood inside them? Could it be possible for a body to stay jointed after such a fall? Blood was dripping from under the hand that was hanging from the roof of the car, a pool of it slowly forming under the head, under the body positioned as if in deep sleep, the face only half hidden, revealing strangely serene features. No movement could be perceived from the body, not the tiniest rise and fall of its chest, nothing.
Sounds of sirens erupted from the corner of the street. Soon, an army of paramedics and policemen were gathering around the car, setting a perimeter around it, shooing people away and calming crying women. Another medical unit immediately joined the first and doctors were rushing to the scene taking in the man lying on top of the broken car, steps barely faltering at the sight offered, heads rising up to consider the building from which the man had most certainly fallen. Gloved fingers gently touched the hanging hand, feeling for a pulse and finding none, feet climbing cautiously on the hood of the car trying to give their owner a clearer view and hands again reaching, voices calling and dread filling every heart.
Then suddenly, a faint move on the left side of the prone man's throat, barely there and unsteady: a pulse.
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There were voices faraway, movement all around him and the feeling that he had smashed hard into something; the sight of the ground plunging towards him…a grey car, something so unexpected. Everything seemed so hazy. Harry's voice was ringing in his head...Words were blurred, his mind suddenly fragmented. Nothing existed anymore, not even the sweet face carved behind his closed eyelids. All he knew was that he was falling, that everything hurt, and then all of a sudden there was nothing.
Soft, gentle fingers touched him lightly, soothing the ache growing within him. They were light and cool and altogether welcome against his burning flesh. It was hard to breathe, not enough air coming his way. It was just so difficult to get air inside. But he tried to keep it coming in and out. Suddenly, it was all that mattered: breathing. So he did just that. He could hear voices but he couldn't make out the words they were saying, there were a lot of voices and everything just seemed so far away. He was tired now, so tired…he just wanted to go to sleep. So he did just that.
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Alarms started going off inside the operating room. Two angry red flat lines appeared on one of the screens, launching the medical team into action. Two sets of hands were busy putting gaze in the open body lying on the table, another one was trying to stitch an artery back together where it had ruptured, another one suctioning the excess blood pooled in the open abdomen, another one looking for a leak behind what was left of the liver, kidneys, another one keeping other internal organs out of the way. Four minutes passed much in the same fashion, then another, all of those feeling like a little eternity…Then finally the red lines flared back to green again with a very slow oscillation: up, down…up, down…up, down… The worst of the damage was far from being repaired, if it could ever be, but still the body on the table kept pulling air into itself releasing it slowly but surprisingly steadily, with the same determination as a newborn child: in, out…in, out…in, out…
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There wasn't any kind of movement around him anymore. He had heard sirens and then more voices and then felt something pulling at his insides, grabbing mercilessly. Then his head had felt strange, as if it had been opened up and stuffed with…something. He could feel something hard holding his skull together. Little by little he became aware that there was more to himself than just his head and his insides. He suddenly knew he was supposed to have a body as well.
There was a dull ache where his legs should be and his arm was bent at an awkward angle as if folded upon itself. He tried to move then, tried to at least open his eyes, but it was pointless, and it all just hurt too much. The darkness kept pulling him back, trying to make him forget that he had a body…that something had happened to him. He felt something inside of him shift and then there was nothing but bright nothingness.
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The alarms blared out again, signaling the nurses and doctors on watch that the unconscious man lying in the bed at the end of the corridor was crashing yet again. Pouches of blood and fluids were pushed aside, the head of the bed was lowered for the third time that night and pads were once more attached to the man's tattooed chest shocking him back to life. Once…Twice…Three times…Four times…There…There…he was back.
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Something was being attached to his chest. Hands lifting him far above the ground and… then, before he could form any coherent thought, he felt it, like molten steel coursing through his entire body with lightening speed, making him want to scream, making him want to cower away to the darkest part of his mind and stay there. The first time was unbearable, feeling like he was dying. The second time was less of a shock but still made him feel like he was being torn open in two, starting from his chest. The third time felt like nothing, his mind having shut down with the force of the pain raging through him. Again, emptiness swallowed him.