Crash Chapter 2
Randy's POV
'What have we got here?' I hear someone ask when I regain consciousness.
'Detroit Memorial just sent him over. They Medivacked him from that wreck out on the highway. He was DOA according to the attending' another voice says.
What does he mean DOA? I'm still alive! I'm still fully conscious! Unless…unless this is what being dead is like. No, I must be alive! There's just no other possible way I can be experiencing this.
'I didn't know you were on today, Jonathan' the second voice says after a few minutes.
'Yeah, me either, Dr. Weiss' a third voice pipes up, this one female.
'I didn't intend to be, but I got a call from Ritchie saying that you guys were swamped' the first voice, who must be Dr. Weiss, or Jonathan, or however you want to phrase it, says.
'You mean we are swamped' the female doctor says.
'Jordan's right, 31 bodies have come in since 5:00 this morning' says the second voice.
Bodies? Where the hell am I?
Maybe if I could just try to talk, or make some sort of movement…
After several minutes of attempting to show any signs of life, I give up, unsuccessful.
'Let's put this one in the drawer for the night. We can get back to him tomorrow' Dr. Weiss says once we reach a chilly room.
"No! Let's not just put me away!" I can't help but think; and try to say when I hear those words.
The female doctor, Jordan, pulls the sheet that has been covering my body up over my face, which is a little scary. It gives you the same kind of emotional rush as if someone was attempting to suffocate you.
Then, with the help of the other male doctor, she lifts me into some kind of drawer.
"God damn!" I shout in my thoughts (since I can't talk out loud at the moment) when my body touches the freezing stainless steel interior of the "drawer".
As if that wasn't bad enough, the doctors close the drawer. So now I'm stuck here in a dark, frigid drawer, with nothing to do but think and try to figure out what the hell is going on, where the hell I am, and why the hell this is happening to me.
I think I know where I am. I think I'm in a morgue.
As far as what the hell goes, I'm completely clueless. The last thing I can remember is being crashed into by a semi. The very next thing I can remember (and trust me, I'm straining as hard and thinking as long as I possibly can) is hearing that doctor's voice, wanting to know "what we've got".
3 ½ hours later
I think I've figured it out. I think I must be in hell.
I don't know why I am in hell, but that's what this must be.
I mean, I've always tried to help out the environment and mankind, but maybe my bad out weighs the good.
Maybe this is for not going to church eight years ago. But even then, I didn't abandon God! I just simply felt that organized religion wasn't the way for me to experience God. No, that's a lie. I simply felt organized religion was a crock.
Or maybe this is because I listened to George Carlin, he was an atheist you know. He was still funny though. I mean, saying he isn't funny because he's an atheist is like saying Ellen DeGeneres isn't funny (which she is!) because she's gay. Ultimately, it's really no different from racism, in my opinion.
No, I think I know why now. Maybe it's because I was always so mean to Mark. But if that's the case, why isn't Brad here too? And every other big brother to ever walk the planet?
Well, I've certainly done something to deserve this. I just wish someone would tell me what it was.
Yep, I see the sign, right there, "Welcome to Hell, population: You!"
The Next Afternoon
I am going insane. I've lost all track of time. For all I know, this could have been only ten minutes, or it could have been ten years.
Then all of a sudden, I can feel the drawer moving, being pulled open.
Once it's open, the same two doctors from yesterday, Jordan, and Jonathan Weiss lift me out of the drawer, and on to another freezing slab of stainless steel.
Jordan turns on a huge hanging light above the steel slab that I'm on, while Jonathan pulls over a tray of very shiny, very sharp, very painful looking instruments.
It's then that I realize what these two are going to do to yours truly. ("Calm down Randy! Don't start talking to your self now" I think).
Then Jordan presses "play" on a stereo, and the sound of Hootie and the Blowfish floods the room. Under any other circumstances, this would be almost comforting to me, but not today!
After listening for a couple of seconds (or minutes perhaps), Jonathan pours over his tray of instruments, and selects one finally.
He then wields the tool (I have no idea what the exact name would be) over me, and slowly moves his tool wielding hand closer and closer to my abdomen.
I prepare my self for the pain of being cut open while un-medicated.
A/N: I'll just leave everyone hanging there for a few days.
First off, I have to give Lee Sinins a gigantic thank you for giving me this idea. Lee, I hope what I said before about only using part of your idea for now is clearer. Sorry if it isn't. :(
I also need to thank the TV show Crossing Jordan for giving me the idea for this entire chapter, and for part of the next chapter.
And yes, I have yet another story that Jonathan Taylor Thomas has found his way into. I can't help it! He's just such a charismatic guy that it's hard for me not to include him in my stories.
Please R&R unless you want Randy to feel a world of pain.
Thanks for reading.
-Yours truly, Randy Taylor