The assignment
He honestly didn't see what was the point of this assignment. He had to simply 'watch' a patient through their recovery process from an operation and write a thesis on how the human mind copes with the progression of their illness or their recuperation. This would be at least eighty-five per cent of his total mark that semester.
Though under the circumstances, writing a thesis on how paint dries or the rate of grass growing would have been more interesting. She laid there in silence, eyes closed, and mouth covered with a breathing mask. If it weren't for the clipboard that had classified her as human he would have associated her with an octopus, due to all the tubes and what not latching off her body, connecting to blood transfusions, IV ports, and heart monitors.
His pad and pencil lay aloof in his hands, as he watched her, nothing special, the ticking of the clock in the room, hummed in agreement. It had been three days like this, silence and stillness, she was bound to wake up soon enough. Though he stood up and stretched his physique and walked out of the room and into the hallway to grab a coffee, he had sat in that room for 16 hours straight without a wink or spur of sleep, yet at this hour he found himself tiring.
He grabbed a disposable cup and took out the loose change that chorused in his pocket, and allowed the machine to swallow them, as he laid the cup in the dispenser, he contemplated on whether he was going to further his 'research' with the patient, or just simply asked to be reassigned.
He started to sip the coffee generously, his eyes dilated in response; he knew coffee wasn't a good outlet for his stress. The hallways echoed his steps as he came closer and closer to the room, was he simply just watching someone die, was this death? He asked himself once again, as he stood in the frame of the room looking at the girl.
Though beyond the medical instruments that adorned her fragile body, were memories of what had been before. Ones that he was too familiar with to forget, this was supposed to be their assignment, not his assignment. She always had done the work on his behalf, if it was out of ignorance or sympathy, he wasn't sure.
If it were her standing next to him analysing the patient, she would have already written a thesis, a novel, and a study on the patient. But to his guilty resentment he realised he wasn't cut out for this as much as he thought he was.
He sat on the chair that directed himself towards her, was this a test, was she mocking him for all the teasing he did, after her completion of 'their' projects. He did not know, and for the first time in a while, the cob webs of confusion became clear in his mind.
The pencil and pad shook in his hands as he couldn't take it anymore, he was confused, and mad, he had lost his vision, as the pencil slipped out of his hands, as if a kiss to the lips of a prince to his princess, the girl's eyes opened and stared.
And so he began, 'She awoke….'