dreams?

The Hospital

Warning: This story contains death and anxiety. Please proceed at your own discretion. 

I shuffled around in the waiting room. The odd scent of surgical spirits, antiseptics and sterile equipment kept tickling my nose although I was wearing a mask. I glanced towards to the curtained beds again. As personnel began to file in and out of that curtain at the end of the aisle faster than usual, I knew it was going to happen. The people around me had mixed reactions. Some were still sulking, probably oblivious to the situation, while some others were getting tenser by the minute.

I wringed my hands. Didn't know what to do. The one lying on that bed was a distant relative of mine. Not that distant biologically, but emotionally, he was a stranger to me. I wasn't even sure what to call him at family meetings. 

Should I pray for the best or for the worst? The former would be absurd and illogical, since he had end-stage renal failure; the latter, immoral, it was something that would be condemned. But that was his only way out. From what I had heard two days back, his other organs had begun malfunctioning too. Seeing the pain he was in, wishing for the best-case scenario was becoming more of a curse than a blessing. But I had no say about this. The only thing I could do was carrying on with my silence.

Averting my gaze from my other family members, the only place left that I could look at was the floor. I knew they would go on rambling to me. Last words to say, how to behave, don't cry. Like in the movies. Right? 

Not cool of me. I was not supposed to act like this. I pondered, went over my thoughts again and again. I really wished I wasn't here. I wished everything didn't have to happen.

 And then the alarm sounded. Stereotypical vital signs monitor beeping. Ninety beeps per minute. 

This was it. I could feel it. 

Everyone else got up and rushed towards the bed, until I was the only one left standing there. They saw me, out of character. Their face contoured in ways I had never seen, pointed at me like I was a madman, until the nurses were alerted. 

I was too young for this. I couldn't see death in the face. I had no way of imagining the trauma of seeing someone die. No. I couldn't. Not this time. 

My adrenals kicked into overdrive as the beeping picked up speed and turned erratic. 

I ignored the gravity of the situation as I struggled to keep my organs in place. I would have fainted or retched on the spot, but I knew I had to get out, and I clambered towards the emergency staircase. 

I was already choking and crying. I kept slamming apart carts full with sheets and IV packs. The bystanders' consternation no longer registered in my mind. 

Reached the door. I flung it open without hesitation. Personnel rushed to get me, but I couldn't care less. I made a beeline down the never-ending stairs to leave this suffocating building. 

I'm sorry. 

The shouting from above quickly died down. After a long time, I finally hit the ground floor. My legs were about to give out as I gave one violent push against the door. 

I'm really sorry. I can't take this anymore. 

I continued running. Overwhelmed, I dragged myself to the hospital garden and flung myself to its deepest corners. And I curled up. And I cried.

He was probably gone at this point. Did I have anything more to say? No. I was an ungrateful brute. The least I could have done for him was giving him a decent farewell. But I didn't. I played hide and seek with something inevitable. Created all this chaos. I knew how childish I was, but nothing could be undone. And it was all my fault. 

My mind went blank. The rest of the day was a blur. At some unknown point in time, I drifted off to sleep, drenched in my tears. 

 I didn't wake up. 

 And I still haven't.