Fading
I'm fading. Fast. Too fast to see more than a flash of light before it bleeds into nothingness.
But I can hear. I can still hear.
The wail of sirens.
The screams dying as we lurch into a desperate rush for help.
"BP's dropping; he's going in to shock.
Shock. I passed that long before they came, long before my blood stained the ground around me, the hands of my friends a bright, angry red.
I'm fading.
I can hear them. Telling me to hold on, not to leave. To fight just a little longer. But I'm tired. So very tired. I don't want to fight anymore; it hurts too much.
The jounce as they rush me, blind and not deaf, into the bustle of the emergency room. I want to scream, and I have no voice. And she's there again, calling to me, screaming my name.
"Don't, don't leave."
I'm fading.
The beeps, the harsh orders. The prick of a needle to the back of my hand. The sharper stab in my side and sudden release; a pressure in my chest that I didn't know was there beyond the rest of the pain.
Slick flow of blood out of me and I know it's too late; a long harsh tone fills the air over them. I know that I'm going to learn how the other half lives. What it's like to be out from under the shadow of a ghost.
I'm fading.