This is a work of fanfiction, made only for fun and not for money.
All comments welcome.
Hospital.
by Tatiana.
----------------------------------------------
I am a tangle of strings.
With the dark Pain tossing and turning.
Touching a string - the reply I can hear.
But can't touch it myself.
I have no arms.
My eyes are the rusty gates, hard to open.
Haze shows up white outside.
It moves and condense and transforms into the doctor's smock.
Into the stooping figure.
Into the face worn out.
Looking inside me and pressing with gray heavy sympathy.
"How are you, Anakin?"
I look inside him in response.
I strike him, I reject his smothering sympathy, his gaze shatters.
I can see myself
- the puppet broken, wound with the web of wires.
I can't feel myself. The Pain says I'm still existing but the Pain lies:
my right hand aches but I see the sleeve which is empty.
"Anakin," the doctor says. "You're out of danger."
He tells me the truth.
I know for sure.
There's no danger when you are dead.
My world is the pain always present.
The pain is hungry and tears me to pieces.
And falls asleep when sated.
But it's always present.
The slab lies heavy on my chest. It's hard to breathe for me.
But for pain it's hard to move.
The slab
goes down
when the pain becomes
furious. My body frozen.
the gravestone.
I am in the white grave.
Never conceived being
dead is
So cold.
I saw my arms. Artificial is the right one and the left - soldered rags.
But they move. They writhe.
My body has turned into an alien.
My every breath is an icy burn. I drink air like water. Like others must drink water.
I don't want to drink any more. I want to breathe. The slab doesn't let me.
But it doesn't let the pain tear up my throat.
I saw my face.
So strange are the doctors who objected to my seeing it. They were hurt -I wasn't.
Neither hurt nor surprised. I felt nothing. There was my face.
Just as that alien was my body.
"Anakin!"
The shout - sharp as a scalpel. The pain doesn't like it. The pain moves in its sleep.
"Anakin! Do you hear me?"
Stupid name. Stupid boy. Come on, don't be silent!
"Anakin?"
The white cloud hanging over me.
The doctor's head made of mist.
"Anakin..."
He must be asleep. Or pretending. Go and shout for him. Or shut up.
The doctor stops his voice and the pain weakens.
"How are you feeling?" it's addressed to me.
"I'm fine."
I'm honest. The pain sleeps.
"Am I dead?"
Astonished and frightened he makes me feel some warmth.
"No, no! You're not at all!"
"Then why am I in the grave?"
"You are in hospital. Remember? I am your doctor."
Such tone is used to talk with little children. Or with insane guys.
"I'm cold. And the slab stifles me."
"The slab..."
"Take it away."
"Yeah, sure, of course..."
He steps back and runs somewhere.
I find it strange.
I breathe with the slab lying on my chest
while he is not able to heave it alone?
"Stop overdosing, now!
It's killing him, driving him crazy...
And have no effect all the same."
He comes again.
"It will be taken off."
"Thanks."
"You will feel worse. Much worse."
"I doubt."
"Anakin, look..."
"Who is it?"
"I beg your pardon?"
"I thought I was alone here. Who is Anakin?"
"A-a-nakin... It's you!.."
Oh, rubbish.
"No."
"Well... What is your name then?"
So polite and careful. So strange.
However my name is forgotten in fact.
"I'll remember. When you remove the slab."
"Yeah, sure... Sorry," he gets up and retires.
What an odd guy he is. It's quite clear I can't remember my name.
After all I've been dead.
But it's strange enough that the doctor is not aware of whom he is treating...
All comments welcome.
Hospital.
by Tatiana.
----------------------------------------------
I am a tangle of strings.
With the dark Pain tossing and turning.
Touching a string - the reply I can hear.
But can't touch it myself.
I have no arms.
My eyes are the rusty gates, hard to open.
Haze shows up white outside.
It moves and condense and transforms into the doctor's smock.
Into the stooping figure.
Into the face worn out.
Looking inside me and pressing with gray heavy sympathy.
"How are you, Anakin?"
I look inside him in response.
I strike him, I reject his smothering sympathy, his gaze shatters.
I can see myself
- the puppet broken, wound with the web of wires.
I can't feel myself. The Pain says I'm still existing but the Pain lies:
my right hand aches but I see the sleeve which is empty.
"Anakin," the doctor says. "You're out of danger."
He tells me the truth.
I know for sure.
There's no danger when you are dead.
My world is the pain always present.
The pain is hungry and tears me to pieces.
And falls asleep when sated.
But it's always present.
The slab lies heavy on my chest. It's hard to breathe for me.
But for pain it's hard to move.
The slab
goes down
when the pain becomes
furious. My body frozen.
the gravestone.
I am in the white grave.
Never conceived being
dead is
So cold.
I saw my arms. Artificial is the right one and the left - soldered rags.
But they move. They writhe.
My body has turned into an alien.
My every breath is an icy burn. I drink air like water. Like others must drink water.
I don't want to drink any more. I want to breathe. The slab doesn't let me.
But it doesn't let the pain tear up my throat.
I saw my face.
So strange are the doctors who objected to my seeing it. They were hurt -I wasn't.
Neither hurt nor surprised. I felt nothing. There was my face.
Just as that alien was my body.
"Anakin!"
The shout - sharp as a scalpel. The pain doesn't like it. The pain moves in its sleep.
"Anakin! Do you hear me?"
Stupid name. Stupid boy. Come on, don't be silent!
"Anakin?"
The white cloud hanging over me.
The doctor's head made of mist.
"Anakin..."
He must be asleep. Or pretending. Go and shout for him. Or shut up.
The doctor stops his voice and the pain weakens.
"How are you feeling?" it's addressed to me.
"I'm fine."
I'm honest. The pain sleeps.
"Am I dead?"
Astonished and frightened he makes me feel some warmth.
"No, no! You're not at all!"
"Then why am I in the grave?"
"You are in hospital. Remember? I am your doctor."
Such tone is used to talk with little children. Or with insane guys.
"I'm cold. And the slab stifles me."
"The slab..."
"Take it away."
"Yeah, sure, of course..."
He steps back and runs somewhere.
I find it strange.
I breathe with the slab lying on my chest
while he is not able to heave it alone?
"Stop overdosing, now!
It's killing him, driving him crazy...
And have no effect all the same."
He comes again.
"It will be taken off."
"Thanks."
"You will feel worse. Much worse."
"I doubt."
"Anakin, look..."
"Who is it?"
"I beg your pardon?"
"I thought I was alone here. Who is Anakin?"
"A-a-nakin... It's you!.."
Oh, rubbish.
"No."
"Well... What is your name then?"
So polite and careful. So strange.
However my name is forgotten in fact.
"I'll remember. When you remove the slab."
"Yeah, sure... Sorry," he gets up and retires.
What an odd guy he is. It's quite clear I can't remember my name.
After all I've been dead.
But it's strange enough that the doctor is not aware of whom he is treating...
