WIRES

EPILOGUE

PRESENT

I am dying.

Today I finally got the news. Someone my age, with working lungs and a life I would never have, told me.

She had this clipboard she kept referring to, reading over the results of my tests. She doesn't know who I am. She doesn't care. All I am is a patient to her, I know she will have several others after me.

And I know I'm painting her with ugly words. This isn't her fault. All she's doing is her job.

With this sweet voice, she looked into my eyes. After a long pause, she says the following sentence with great hesitation."I'm afraid you're dying."

I don't react.

I simply stare at her, waiting for her to say more. When I realize she's waiting for my response, I just say, "Oh."

"I'm so sorry Dash," she says, her voice sweet.

How many people has she given this news to? Does she even see patients as real people anymore?

Being a doctor is a frightening job. I can't imagine having a stranger's life in my hands. Knowing at any point, a single screwup could send someone spiraling to their end.

"Where's Pinkie?" is all I say.

She looks at the time. "I'm not sure. It's dark now. She told me she didn't want to be in the room when the news was delivered to you."

This makes my heart ache. I'm aware people have different methods of coping, but I miss her.

I really miss her.

When was the last time I even saw Pinkie?

I suddenly am not aware of the time or how long I've been here. This hospital bed is everything I am reduced to.

I am nothing more.

"When is she going to come back?" I ask.

The doctor replies, attempting to give me hope as if that'll fix my broken body. When she walks away and another person comes in, to check my vitals for the day, I close my eyes. I don't want to talk to anyone anymore.

I am trying to rethink all of the choices I've done in this life. What led me to this point? What made my body so sick that I can barely stand up?

Now that death is close, I can almost feel its grasp, I wonder. Do I really want to die?

—

In the hospital bed's thin crisp sheets lie everyone's future.

If that person is lucky, the bed doesn't mean anything just yet. They have more time left on their hands, more things to accomplish. Their legs are strong enough to carry them home, their arms have enough strength to hug the ones they love. Their lungs can work on their own, they're able to breathe.

The others are left in the dark, and the only thing saving them from their inevitable death are machines. And slowly, life slips away from them. The only thing you can do is watch them hopelessly.

There was nothing left for them, except the end.

Pinkie stands in front of me. I think this is the happiest I've been, especially after the news I just received.