Running Away

"Sango..." a distant voice beckoned. My head was full of darkness and swirling mists. I was comfortable wrapped in the soft warmth coming from my body. I felt content in the nestled position. My limbs felt like lead, and my eyelids were heavy. It seemed like I could never leave this dream state, I was trapped in my own little world.

My eyes slowly opened. My vision was very foggy and I felt groggy and sick. It was strange. The man standing over me wasn't my father, and I wasn't in my room. The walls were a screaming white, and there was an odd smell in the room. I was cushioned under something; I couldn't quite place the substance. I heard the soft comfort of my father's voice.

"She's never had seizures like this before...she never has them when she's conscious anyway. She has them in her sleep every other day or so, but she just jerks a bit, that's all. This seizure was almost like she was having an earthquake inside her body. She was jerking so much and so violently, it was like her whole body was vibrating. Her eyes were rolled back to their whites, and her eyelids fluttered like there was no end. She was making high-pitched screams, and there was no way to bring her back to consciousness. I thought..." he trailed off.

The words were slowly floating through my brain. I couldn't process what he was saying; it was too hard to understand. I felt very weak. My arms felt sweaty and they hurt badly. My legs felt stretched to their limit. My whole body was exhausted. Everything was shaky and unsteady. My vision cleared gradually.

"Dad?" I asked weakly, trying to roll over, but failing. He smiled at me, ruffling my bangs. Lines of worry were creased across his forehead.

"How do you feel, baby?"

"Not very good." I admitted. He looked at the doctor.

"She must be really sick. She never admits when something's wrong." He smiled down at me. "She's stubborn, Henri."

I laughed, and the sound bothered me. It was choked and raspy. As soon as I laughed, I began to cough furiously.

"Hush, Sango, it'll be alright." My dad promised me. "Just go to sleep." He stroked my cheek and my eyelids closed.

I couldn't sleep, though I wanted to badly. I was too alert; there was no sleeping at this point. I decided that I would relax and listen to their conversation. I wasn't sure as to what had happened anyway, and I was curious. It was the doctor who spoke first, as I had expected.

"Mister Tajiya, I think your daughter had what is commonly called a grand mal seizure. Don't worry; they are very typical of juveniles with monoclonic epilepsy. Your daughter is fine."

"But doctor, she only has them in her sleep. That is what the brain scan she had told us."

"That may be a sign that her seizures have been reclassified."

"What do you mean?" I could tell my father was staring to panic, although the doctor remained calm.

"Remember that she was diagnosed with generalized seizures?"

"Yes..."

"Now she is showing signs of complex partialized seizures."

"Is that a good thing?"

"It depends on how you look at it."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"Well, for starters, it may mean she can have surgery to permanently cure her." My eyes snapped open.