21/5/2016
11:03pm
I ran. I ran as fast as I can. I kept imagining his lifeless body on one of the hospital's beds trying to fight for his life when it should have been me.
It was all my fault.
I can feel fresh tears falling to no end on both of my cheeks.
Just as I reach his room, everything felt like it is on slow motion unlike minutes ago, I couldn't help myself but wonder; is he okay?
Will he be okay? but most importantly; is he even alive?
I took a deep breath to quench my thirst for air after all that running.
It felt like I stood there for hours, paralyzed, staring at the number of his room, concentrating so hard as if trying to use my nonexistent powers to make the door invisible in hopes of sneaking a peak of what's yet to come.
After realizing how ridiculous my thoughts are, I decided to get a grip and face the consequences of my fault.
My hands are shaking so bad as I forced them to take hold of the door knob. sadly, as I am about to open the door I felt a hand on my shoulder,
"I am sorry, but no visitors are allowed", said someone from behind me, the nurse I assume.
I wiped the never ending tears off my face with the back of my hand and slowly turned the upper part of my body around.
True to my words I saw a nurse she looks like she's in her late thirties with a bored expression plastered on her face.
I started to shout nonsense words to her while making irrational gestures with my hand, I know it wasn't her fault but I need to go in there, scratch that, I must go in there.
My voice became louder and louder with each word. Her calm face irritated me to the point that I turned to burst through his hospital room and ignore her stupid rule, but it was locked.
"open the door", I said with an intimidatingly frightening yet calm voice that would've made my knees buckle if it was the other way around.
I would have felt sheer satisfaction if the fear that crawled up her face was permanent, but just as it came it disappeared to be replaced by her usual bored expression.
"I'm sorry madame his condition is unstable and no visitors are allowed even family members, so I would recommend for you to wait in the waiting area until I'm informed I can allow visitors" she spoke in that robotic tone of hers.
"No no no this can't be happening", I said in a whisper and judging by her confused expression, she didn't hear.
I heard shouting from the end of the corridor and automatically my head snapped up only to find doctors pushing a moving bed with a body that looked too pale if you overlooked the blood gushing out from the wounds while screaming commands to one another trying to keep this anonymous alive.
He must have looked the same.
With that thought in mind. I surprisingly felt a bolt of energy shudder through me despite my tiredness.
I kept on screaming as all my calm fade started to shutter down as the furious person inside me started to crawl to the surface breaking anything she can see.
I held the nurse by my fist and pinned her hardly to the floor. Guess all the hard work paid off after all .
She was screaming, shouting for help, her usual calm face showed nothing else other than fear.
Realization hit me like a tonne of bricks. What the hell am I doing? This is so wrong.
I was about to let go. Horrified, when I felt something sink harshly into my neck. With a blurry vision I saw the nurse shrinking away in fear.
I tried to stand up and leave, I've officially gone crazy. What was I thinking attacking the nurse?
I couldn't maintain my balance.
Probably, they injected me with something that will calm me down. Honestly, wouldn't blame them.
I painfully shut my eyes as it felt like all tiredness of the day came at me in full force.
My vision started to blur as the lights all around me started to dim.
That's when everything turned pitch black.
I heard voices coming from the distance but it just kept on fading away until I couldn't make out what the anonymous voices were trying to say anymore.
I felt the back of my head make contact with the hard cold floor, the tiredness and sadness started to be replaced by calmness and darkness.
