Heartsteel

alive

Heavy.

Everything is heavy.

I try shifting left and right, but there's something sitting right on top of my chest, restricting my movement. I try saying something, but then I realize, I can't exactly open my mouth. I try taking in a breath, but then I notice something wedged past my lips and lodged down my throat.

What the hell is wrong with me?

I try opening my eyes, and nothing stops me there, at least. For a split second all I see is the plain white ceiling again, but then a fuzzy figure steps into view over me. It's a man, I think; he's tall, maybe as tall as my dad; his hair is like a...fluffy, curly, white-speckled souffle, and it connects to a woolly beard of matching colour. All that hair stands out on his brown skin. I see a nametag too, on his blindingly white coat, but he's still too fuzzy for me to make out the words.

"...Suzie..." he says. At least I think he actually said that. I'm not sure I really saw his lips move. "...Suzie Amana...to stay awake....remove the breathing tube..."

I'm trying to focus — my vision, hearing, feeling in my upper body — but bile is beginning to riot in my gut. What the hell is in my mouth?

Another figure over me. A barrage of strawberry-blonde curls streaked with pink dye, tied in a wild bun. Now I know, I'm in safe hands for sure.

"....just relax Suzie...will pull it out...gonna hold you still..." goes Nurse Jarvis' voice, in and out, gentle and soothing.

I have no clue what she's telling me, and all of a sudden, there's a hand clasping my shoulder and another stationing itself over my chest near my neck. Two more hands fly into my line of sight and hover over my face. They've taken hold of something, I can feel it, but I just can't see it.

Souffle-hair man is counting down, "...three, two, one-"

And then-uugghhh!

whatthefuckwhatthefuckwhatthefuck

He's pulling it-no...he's prying it from my throat. Something long and abrasive. I can finally see some of it the more it becomes extracted from me. It's a tube, I think. What the fuck. The man keeps reeling it in. It feels endless. It feels like my esophagus is getting butchered by a cat's claws.

I want to scream.

I want to cry.

I want to fucking-

"There! Finally out. Finally, finally," calls Mr. Souffle. Hands withdraw from chest and shoulder, and I find I can move my mouth now.

I look over on my right at him while coughing out my guts; a clear image at last. The tube in his hands is like some plastic python all bent out of shape and covered in my saliva. And the nametag on his coat reads, 'Altair Fadel' in fine black letters.

"You're all right, Suzie. Just breath slow."

I drag my head to look on my left just in time to see Nurse Jarvis bringing me a paper cup, of water I presume. She brings it to my chin, tilts it slowly. I try to meet her halfway by lifting my head. It's not the simplest action in the world right now, but at least my head's not really heavy like the rest of me. But one sip of the h20, and my throat feels like it's being attacked again. I groan and lower my head away from the cup.

Nurse Jarvis frowns down at me. "I know your throat must be sore, Suzie, but you gotta drink as much as you can. You're body needs to rehydrate."

She leads the cup half an inch closer to my face, and despite my irritated throat, magically I'm ready to give it another go. The cold water slithers down my windpipe, but it does nothing but vex the burning pain in there.