Left (n.h.)

1)

The last thing I can remember is the pain.

It was the final match of our Californian League Soccer Tournament, The Spartans versus Flash; that's us. We were good, really good, but maybe I thought I was a little bit too good.

The ball was beautifully passed from the outside and I took the run, dribbling the ball between my feet and dodging every defender, the goal straight ahead.

The goal keeper comes in for the dive, crouching into a ball beneath my feet, sending me soaring over her body, and straight into the right post of the goal.

My head hit first, before my whole body after it. I remember screaming and the blowing of the whistle faintly, and then nothing at all; and still nothing at all as I lie in this hospital bed, alone and in a coma.

The only thing that keeps me company is my own thoughts.

The funny thing is, I don't actually dream, I just sit and talk to myself. I don't know if it's been weeks or even months, but there's no telling how long from here.

My mother should be in the room at any moment now, coming in to sit by my side and squeeze my hand. My coma has given me the ability to still feel, while assuming I'm having a horrible dream and can't open my eyes.

My mother is my biggest fan and only friend; she still sits by my side even when I can't stand by hers now.

From day in and day out I'll feel her presence standing over me, and her kiss upon my hand or forehead, except for now.

Although I can't really tell how long it's been, she's not there, but she should be. She isn't in the room; no one's in the room. Why?

Darkness, it's all darkness, nothing but the black abyss etched behind my eyelids.

And she never came back.

My mother never touched my hand from that moment on, even when my eyes opened to see the world again.

In a flash, from dark to light, I could see again. I could hear birds chirping in the distance, and the sounds of the wind cooing through the window.

I push the button on my bedside table, calling for the nurse, the familiar buzzing noise rings in the other room, but no sound of stirring throughout the hospital hallway.

"Nurse?" I call very quietly, my vocal chords sore and scratchy from going such a long time without using them. Again, there's no stirring or whispering in the other room, only the wind. "Nurse!" I call again uselessly, my head pounding as I yell for the second time.

Turning to the side, I rip out the tubes and IVs that stick into my arms, and I grunt at the feeling.

Getting out of the bed, I feel heavy on my feet, like my legs are a million pounds, and I dizzily walk over to the window.

The curtains fly out with the breeze, and the parking lot is mostly empty below. Several vines and weeds grow through the window and down the side of the building, and I feel the cold leaves of morning glory that crawl into the room like fingers that reach out for me.

The hospital gown drapes over my feet, and it swipes along the floor as I walk.

The clock on the door reads twenty past twelve, but the hands aren't moving, and the clock obviously hasn't been spinning for a while, with quite the collection of dust over its glassy dials.

I open the door, hearing the sound of the wind much more fluent in the hallway, and it's empty of people just as my room is.

"Hello?" I call down the long corridor of the halls and get no response in return, yet again.

"Mom?" Nothing.

The wind chills my arms as it breezes through the north hallway, and the wall is eroded, allowing the breeze to flow through a hole in the wall, around my size.

The elevator buttons don't work and the stairway is dark, but it's also the only way out of here, making it my last and only option.

Holding onto the railing of the steps, I carefully make my way down, and feel for the handle of the exit door to escape.

I moan and grunt softly, as my head throbs with every step I take.

Once again, light fills my brain, the outside breeze now escalating over my whole body. I look around the parking lot for my mother's car, which is nowhere to be seen, great.

She must've went home, which is understandable considering however long I've been living in the hospital; but home is a long walk from here.

While although there's a breeze, it's warm, as if you're taking a hot shower in air, and the sun scorches down on the earth.

The sun lies slightly further in the sky then right above me, and from all of the afternoon smells, I can tell that it's closer to setting than when it had risen.

No cars drive by, and no noises of the city escape from its towering buildings, no clanks, zooms, or bangs like there should be in the great state of California; only the sounds of nature.

The drive to the hospital takes five minutes by car, which means it will take fifteen on foot; if I hurry, and I don't think my heavy legs are going to want to take me that far for that long.

I carry on either way, my stomach growling and head starting to spin, no one, anywhere is still to be seen. My feet ache as I walk along the road, and I still feel like I couldn't even talk if I tried.

A large fallen tree blocks the road up ahead, so I pick up the pace on my heavy feet toward the roadblock.

My hospital gown rips and rubs against the heavy bark of the fallen tree, and my legs can't get to far away from each other before the gown stops them.

Sitting on top of the tree, the sun sets quick over the horizon, home still far from here.

Jumping down, my legs hit the ground of the street forcefully, and I limply lie with them.

My whole body a heap on the street, the sky grows darker above my head, and my eyes start to close in weary.

A glass of water would be nice, maybe a hot meal, or possibly a Popsicle.

All of my limbs dead-weighted and my head still spinning, the cold concrete becomes my bed, and sleep overcomes me as quick as the sun sets.

But my closing eyes weren't the only pair active, for some others; were just then opening.