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Days of pitch black. Numbness. He knew his hands were moved, yet no sensation came to his fingertips. Murmurs of voices heard, but no faces to attach those words to. It had been days since I heard her voice: "I need you to wake up, alright?". She had been dead. Was there a point to fighting anymore? But there she was again: "I love you". Then she was gone, but it was her. The voices became a little clearer, the numbness faded. Moments later, the cool press of an object glided across his face.
"You're gonna need a clean shave for when you wake up."
The voice belonged to a man. Keep talking. I need something to grab onto. Flex anything you can, nothing followed. The man continued his task, many failed attempts of getting attention passed. The scratchy towel dabbed across his face. It had to be now. Flex. A limb jolted outward.
"Mr. McCormmick?"
Flex again. There was an increase amongst the frequency in the constant beeping he had sat with. Again, there was movement.
"Oh my God..." Radio static. "Paging Doctor Malcolm Wrede! Emergency with patient Daniel McCormick, room 327! Paging Doctor Malcolm Wrede!"
A second set of footsteps. Footsteps. I can hear footsteps.
"Connor, what's going on?"
"It's Daniel, I've never seen him do this. Maybe he's waking up? He's had a lot of stimulation, it's possible."
A clasped hand was felt. Feeling? Fingertips tingling? So close. Just open your eyes.
"Hey, Mr. Mccormick, come on. You can do it. Keep fighting."
The beeping intensified. What was that? It was a burning white color.
Then all of the raging light came rushing in. Shadows appeared, standing over him. Everything could be heard, the chaos of the hospital. Voices, clearer. Shadows with dimension. Hands. Faces. Expression. His nerves felt like they were catapulting into motion, zipping through his body as his senses came back. Mr. McCormick's legs kicked out, colliding it with the two men at his bedside as they held him down and used words of consolement. The beeping, God it was screaming at that point. The white light finally dissipated into color, bland yet crisp white walls. A man in a white doctor's coat and a second one dressed in a blue nurse's uniform. Their eyes were bulging out of their heads. Like they had seen a ghost. Had they?
"Hey, hey, hey, I need you to relax. You're gonna overwork yourself, okay?" The man in blue urged. "Mr. McCormick, you're at St. Olive's hospital. You encountered a shooting about a month back. You were shot in the head."
"Wh-" He tried to form words but they simply slurred upon his lips. He almost started to doze off again.
"Sir, I'm Doctor Wrede. I was your diagnostic doctor. Can you tell me where you are?"
