wake up, phil - [phan]

{ 29 } - Permanent

Phil's POV

Puff.
Shhhh.
Puff.
Shhhh.

What was that? It was a really strange sensations , almost like somebody was pulling at my lungs, pulling at my chest. Almost like I was breathing, but really heavily, like I'd just run a mile.

The small dark box - that's what I decided to call it - was becoming gradually lighter. The black of the walls that I couldn't see the ends of, were slowly brightening in colour. Now they were a dark grey, almost a pleasant shade, I suppose. It was pleasant, because I knew something was happening and something was changing. The air around me felt lighter, not heavy and thick. It was nice.

Maybe it would continue getting like that? I couldn't be sure.

Another thing I noticed was a dull pain on my arm, like somebody with tiny fists was repeatedly punching it. Also a small hum around me of noises. Maybe voices, I couldn't be sure either.

I hoped something would change. The prison of dark walls and endless dreams was setting me on edge. The dreams always made me nervous that I'd see something that would set me off, make me incrediby sad, because they all had Dan in them, and I missed him a lot.

Oh, Dan. I hope you're okay. I miss you more than anything and you're the only person I remember from the world that I seem to have left behind.

I wonder what the date was. What time was it? I had no sense of time and space, so I had no clue how long I had been like this. I vaguely remember the flat. Our home, where we both lived together before everything had turned on its head. I like to picture the rooms sometimes, if my thick and foggy head will let me. I imagine myself back in the house, sat with Dan. I really wish something changes soon. Usually I hated change, I liked things to stay the same. But in this case, it was very different.

This was a very different situation.

-

Dan's POV

"Hello, deary, can I sit here?"

I looked up quickly.

"Oh-... Uh, yes, of course."

I quickly shifted over one seat on the bus, allowing this strange old lady with silver hair and a yellow coat to sit beside me. I scanned the bus to find there were no other empty seats. The old lady slowly and shakily settled into the seat next to me, placing her shopping bags on the floor. After finally getting comfy, she turned her face towards me and tapped my knee. "Do you not have a phone, my boy?"

"What, sorry?" I looked puzzled at the old lady, not sure of what she was trying to ask me.

"Don't you have your phone with you?"

"Oh, yes." I nodded. Why did this old lady need to know that?

"Then why aren't you using it?"

I looked down at the rectangular shape jutting out of my jean pocket. Why wasn't I using it? I had spent the bus journey staring wistfully into the misty window of the bus, lost in thought. Before I could say anything, the old lady interrupted me.

"You see, most people on these buses and trains these days are always holding their phones, as if they are clutching on for dear life. Some have headphones on too, which just cuts them off from the world entirely. They can't hear at all when they have headphones on. It's all very antisocial."

The old lady had a point, and I smiled inwardly when I remember my awkward teenage days of just using my phone as a way of not needing to talk to anyone on public transport. But right now, I didn't mind. Her company was almost nice.

"I guess... It's considered normal and ordinary to use your phone instead of talking to people out and about. But sometimes I don't like to do that." The lady nodded and smiled at me.

"At least you're a young man who understands what it's like for us oldies these days."

I nodded and returned to looking out the window. It was still quite early on in the morning, and mist had settled on the windows. I brought up my arm and wiped an oval shape into the misty windows so I could see better, my arm covered in wet dew.

"Deary, are you alright?"

I turned my head again.

"I'm fine. Just had a bit of a rough time recently."

"What with?" The lady suddenly gasped and stuttered. "Sorry, I don't mean to be a nosy old bag-"

"No, no, it's alright. You're not being nosy." I lowered me head to stare at my hands, fiddling with my thumbnail. "My closest friend is in a... Coma. And the doctors and nurses at the hospital are saying he won't-" I broke off quickly to flick at my eyes, which were filling with tears. Oh god. All I seem to do is bloody cry these days.

"Oh, you poor boy, I wish I could help you." Her face darkened with sadness, and she placed her hand on my leg, which was oddly comforting.

"I'm fine, really." But my voice was cracking.

"Can I tell you something, son?"

I nod, sniffing loudly. People are beginning to stare at me, crying my eyes out next to this mad old lady in a yellow raincoat.

"This friend... You miss them, yes?"

I nod again.

"You mourn them?"

"Yes."

"You miss them, you would do anything to talk to them again? You get sad thinking if them, and you don't think you'll ever be happy again?"

"O-Of course. That's e-exactly how I feel."

"Well guess what, son? That feeling of depression, mourning... It won't last forever. You may think it will, but I promise you it won't. Nothing is permanent, especially not feelings. I would know. I grew up in a time of war and loss. Be happy, my dear. Everything will turn out fine."

Her words replayed in my head.

It won't last forever. Nothing is permanent, especially not feelings.

"Well, I hope you survive, and are happy soon. This is my stop."

She shakily stood up, using the bar to help herself up. She grabbed at her bags, and took a few steps forward before turning back to me and smiling weakly as I wiped away the wet smudges under my eyes.

"Good luck, deary. Just remember what I said." I did remember it. It was something that I knew would stick with me forever. But the old lady was wrong.

This is permanent.