I don’t really remember what happened before it all went dark. I think I was in the car? All I can remember was the loud noise, some screech of metal on metal and then nothing. I woke up in this beeping place. I’m not sure where I am because I can’t seem to open my eyes. Silly, isn’t it? I can definitely feel the blanket on top of me and the beep-beep-beep beside me but I can’t open my eyes or talk or move.
People come to poke at me every now and then and I always try to talk to them.
“Can someone tell me what’s happened to my eyes? I can’t open them.” I try to say but my vocal cords don’t seem to want to cooperate so I guess I’ll just wait. These people seem to know what they’re doing, they poke in the same places every time, sometimes with their fingers, sometimes with a sharp-thing-with-no-name. They don’t say much, these people. Just come, poke, sigh, and go.
Someone opened my eye today and held a flashlight over it. It hurt and I couldn’t tell them to stop but just the movement of my eye felt amazing. Did you know that if you don’t open your eyes for a long time they can stick to your eyelids? I didn’t. Do now. It didn’t hurt though, it just felt good when it unstuck.
Someone’s been holding my hand and reading me stories. They’re seven chapters into Harry Potter and The Chamber Of Secrets now. I’d tell them that I’ve already read them but I can’t. They hold my hand sometimes and just sit with me so it’s just me, them and the beep-beep-beep. I think it’s my mom.
She was crying today. I wanted to make her happy and not sad but something’s definitely wrong with my arms because I couldn’t hug her better. I’ll have to tell her when I can that I wanted to help.
Some people came into the room while mom was crying, said that “she should leave”, that “she shouldn’t be here for this” but I didn’t recognise the voice and I didn’t want mom to go. I was scared. She cried louder, said “No, he’s still there.” And I wanted to shout “Of course I am, where would I have gone?” and everyone left.
Mom came back a bit later, sniffing. She sat down and started crying a bit louder, and louder, until she was almost screaming. And then she hit me, right in the face. I couldn’t tell what I’d done wrong but she hit me again and again and again and I couldn’t say sorry or cry or stop her, only sit there until the men came and took her away. Two of the men stayed though and they were mumbling and I couldn’t make out what they were saying until I caught the word “coma.”
I wanted to scream, shake, jump up and slap him in the mouth.
But I couldn’t. I couldn’t say “stop.” Couldn’t say “please, I’m here, I can hear you please don’t do this.” Nothing. I could only sit there while they poked me with a sharp-thing-with-no-name that must be a needle. The beep-beep-beep turned into a beep-beep and I felt myself get tired. I wanted to ask what they were doing. What they thought it would help to slow the beeping down but I couldn’t.
I was screaming at the top of my lungs but I wasn’t moving. I don’t want to die. I don’t want to fade away, I need to hug mom, tell her everything’s okay, tell her I’m here and I’m fine. But I don’t think I’ll get the chance now.