L'Appel du Vide

Routines

The doctors discovered your violent puking was because you didn't take your medication, which Dolores got scolded for. You felt on edge, watching everything play out as you silently lay back in your new bed. Dolores sat on the tiny couch next to you, a worried expression plastered on her face. She was sweating, and her head was lowered in shame. You almost felt bad.

The room you were in now wasn't much different than your previous one, though it had much nicer furniture. You missed the plant that sat in your window before, although there wasn't much you could do about it.

You were moved up to the second floor, which meant you couldn't see anyone outside. At least you weren't alone right now, even if Dolores truly was a pitiful sight to behold. Everything was quiet, excluding the low hum of the monitor. You shut your eyes, silently begging for a new dream to come and sweep you away.

But none came.

Maybe Dolores thought you were asleep because she left once your heart rate slowed and your breathing became even. How stupid of her. Once the door slammed shut, you reopened them. You were alone now, thank the heavens. Although now, you had nobody to talk to. How sad. You had long since grown sick of the constant beeping of the machines, the medicines, your bed. Every single noise annoyed you now. You were a miserable, pathetic creature. Could you even be considered human at this point?

Why were you even alive? You should've been dead by now. You're just an empty shell, one that exists only to go through an endless cycle. Maybe it's time to act on your plan, a plan you've had for a while now. It will be difficult, but it'll all be worth it in the end.

You pushed yourself up in bed, into an upright position. Your gaze traveled down to your arm, where various IV cords lay inserted into your bloodstream. You tear them out, a slight pinching sensation following quickly after, though it doesn't last long. Now it's time for the hard part.

Your attention is turned to your bed sheets, and the cold air floods your body as you rip them away. Once these are out of the way you scoot yourself up to the edge of the bed, maneuvering your legs to hang over it. You're almost there.
The bed creaks as your weight is lifted off of it, your body gently sliding down the side. Now you're on the floor, crawling towards the window. You silently pray that nobody comes into the room. It proves rather hard –as you expected –to move when your legs are atrophied, but at least you can still move. Just a few more steps.

You make it to the window and hoist yourself up onto its ledge. If you look down, you can see just how far up you are. Perfect. The window is unlocked. How lax the nurses are here, or maybe they were never supposed to be locked in the first place. All it takes is a light push to open it. There's no turning back now.

You're now sitting over the window, your feet dangling over the edge of the building. It's dark out. The fresh breeze hits your face, a relieving feeling. You take a deep breath and look up at the stars. Everything is coming to an end, finally. No more medicine, no more boring hours waiting for just something to happen. You won't have to endure any more dreams of the past. You'll be gone.

You push yourself off the edge of the window.

The stars sure are beautiful tonight.

[End of Lucid Dreams.]