Hit By A Truck

Robin

It was night. There was no one around, nothing around, just grass. Grass underneath me, and around me. I looked around, panicked. The wind whispered softly into my ear, "Robin..."

I gasped, and turned around. There stood Ron, hand in hand with Pierre. He stretched out his free hand, and said, "Come on. We're going out right now."

"Out?" I whispered. "As in hanging out?"

Ron nodded.

Suddenly, I was on my hospital bed again. I frowned. "Sorry. I can't walk anymore. I can't even move."

Pierre frowned. "That's kind of sad."

"I'm alright, really." A hushed whisper said. I recognised Pierre's body before I recognised his voice.

"Come on, you're both my friends, so i want to introduce you." Ron whispered back.

"We don't properly know each other. Things will be awkward. Especially with this situation."

"We'll make it work."

"Maybe." Pierre whispered. He didn't look fully convinced, but it was enough.

"What's going on?" I asked, breaking the hushed whisper of voices. They both turned to me.

Ron grabbed Pierre's hand and brought him over to my bed. He sat at the edge of it, where he'd sat ever since I was brought here. It was probably just the most comfortable spot. Pierre sat down right next to him, then adjusted his position.

"This is Pierre, the person whose father hit you." Ron said.

"You mean the person whose father is treating me like a saint?" I deadpanned.

Ron looked alarmed, but Pierre said, "I don't like it anymore than you do."

I smirked. "I think we just might get along quite well."

"Maybe." Pierre said, and then after an awkward silence, "Let's just do a mental handshake."

"Mental handshake, then."

Nowadays, I dozed off a lot. It was probably because being awake was really painful. When I woke up again, Ron wasn't here, but Pierre was sleeping on the two chairs in the back. His father wasn't there now, so it looked much easier to stretch in his sleep.

His lower pocket buzzed, and after a few seconds of waking up and stretching, he pulled his phone out of his pocket, and sat straight up.

"Hey, there." "Where are you?" "Alright." "Sure." Were the bits and pieces of conversation I heard on my end.

Pierre pocketed his phone and then said, "Ron went to get some papers. When he comes back, we're gonna play Truth Or Dare."

I yawned. "Sure. Sounds fun."

Pierre didn't respond. After a few seconds, he finally said, "Have you ever felt hopeless?"

"I feel that a lot recently." I said. "Especially since I'm seriously injured. Not only I can't walk, but I can't move at all. It's so frustrating, but it hurts like my limbs are splitting apart. Perhaps they are."

"That's definitely annoying." Pierre muttered.

I shrugged. "At least it's mostly physical pain."

"You're luckier than most."

"You're luckier than me."

"Maybe."

It suddenly dawned upon me, that he said "maybe" a lot.

A while later, Ron walked in the room with a duffel bag, and leaned it on the wall, next to the doorway and the two chairs. Pierre jumped up. "I'm interested in what kind of juicy truths you guys have hidden."

I smirked back at him. "You're not getting any truths out of me."