Animals

The Final Days

Day Unknown

Things came back slowly, sometimes in flashes and sometimes like I was watching a movie in half-speed. There were faces and snippets of conversations that always faded back to black and then next time they came, I couldn't remember the last one or how long it had been since. When I became sentient for the last time, it was painful.

The first thing I noticed was how sore and tight my body was. Everything was heavy and I couldn't move. As my mind ordered my body to awaken, the painful feeling of static began at my fingers and toes, working its way up until my entire body sizzled. That's when the searing pain kicked in, emanating from my leg and stomach. The last thing to gain function was my eyes, and even that hurt. The light was blinding, piercing my unused pupils like knives. My eyes were too dry, and as I blinked, tears welled up to fix it, the excess spilling onto my cheeks.

"No, baby, don't cry. You're okay," my mom's voice said, choking quietly with sobs she was trying to hold back.

My dry tongue stuck to my throat so no words were able to form. Mom massaged some feeling back into my arm, but my other hand was grasped tightly by Mitch. His beard had grown past the stubble phase but hadn't quite reached the legitimate beard phase yet, and all the lines of his face were set in silent anguish.

Across the room, my dad walked in with a doctor trailing him. "Ms. Walker, my name is Dr. Garcia, you're in the hospital. You're fine now."

There was an IV in my left arm and another tube connected to my nose that I could feel down my throat when I swallowed. I remembered getting shot in the same places I was hurting. I tried forming the word water, but it was just frog-like croaking sounds.

Mitch hopped out of his seat. "I'll get you some water."

I watched him go until I couldn't see him anymore then focused on the doctor. Her hair was in a clip, the tips sticking up like a crown.

"Do you remember why you're here?" she asked.

I nodded, and Mitch came back holding a cup of ice water with a straw. I tried to lean up but was met with an agonizing pull on my stomach, and Mom pushed my shoulder gently to keep me down.

"Are you in pain?" Dr. Garcia asked. I resisted the urge to role my eyes. Of fucking course I was in pain.

"Of course she's in fucking pain," Mitch grumbled, his hand finding its way under my head. He helped me raise up enough to sip the water without spilling it. Dr. Garcia chose to ignore Mitch's attitude as she fiddled with my IV. By the time I laid my head back down on the pillow, the morphine was working its way into my system.

"Ms. Walker, you've been in a coma for two weeks. The gunshot nicked your femoral artery and you lost a lot of blood," she explained, but I stopped listening after the 'in a coma for two weeks' part.

"A coma?" I repeated. "Why?"

She repeated herself patiently, letting me process the information. "When you came in, you were in critical state. We gave you more blood and sewed up the wound on your small intestine. We had to do vascular reconstruction on your femoral artery. As of right now, your vitals have been steady, so that's good news." She left after making sure I was good and there were no more questions, telling me she'd be back to remove my nasogastric tube later.

"Yeah..." I muttered. "I'm going to be paying out the ass for this. I don't have health insurance."

"You're still on ours, honey. Don't worry about it," Dad said, his eyes red-rimmed.

Mitch leaned over me again, reminding me to keep drinking water. A bullet dangled in front of me, a piece of wire wrapped around the end where a thin leather strip was looped through and secured around Mitch's neck. I instantly recognized that bullet as the missing piece I needed when Limbo found me.