Fragments

I.

day one

To whomever,

Today is only the first day, but the silence, darkness, and loneliness already seems everlasting. There is barely any difference, being awake andf being asleep. Being conscious and being unconscious.

I scream, as loud as I can, but there is only silence to hear. Every part of my body has hurt ever since I became aware of my condition- everything still hurts - and my muscles ache like I've just finished a marathon.  I know I am not dead; I hear the city traffic oozing through the black streets and the hospital smell (it smells like bleach on blood and stains, an unnatural odor that screams "Medicines at use!" and "Your survival rate will be a little better because of our high hygeine levels!"). I test the word on my tongue, even though I can't speak. Coma. I imagine saying it out loud with a feeling of longing.

My life is already but a pattern of slipping in and out of consciousness. My everything is now constant darkness and an eerie stilness. And, I guess, all of my future memories will be exactly the same as today. But earlier today, everything around me felt particularly peculiar. For a while, it was like falling off a cliff, into a dark and endless abyss. It was like my soul was falling, wandering. Lost. After I don't know how long, I remember returning to my body.

It was like this game I used to play with my brother, sister, and cousins. Whenever we went to the beach, always the same one, of course, we'd stay at a little cottage right next to the ocean. My aunt and her family would also go down to the exact same shore, and rent out their own cottage next to ours. We didn't mind playing with our cousins, and neither did our parents - we were basically babysitting ourselves, so to speak.

(It's been some time since we last went to that beach. Though it's practically summer again, I could bet the chances of us returning to the beach this year are as high as the chances of me waking up - basically none.)

Every afternoon, right before dinner, we'd all wade out in the water until our feet couldn't touch the ground any longer, and we then ducked our heads under the surface, holding our breath as long as we could. The last time we went there, I held my breath for so long that I felt like the air in my lungs had disappeared; I was struggling to break through the surface of the water. And when I finally did, I came up gasping, heaving, faint from the lack of air.

That's what it was like, returning to my body. Except there was no sense of comfort or safety. No sense that I was finally out of the danger zone, because I am still trapped in darkness.

Just a different kind of darkness.

Then the nurses, doctors, and my family arrived, and interrupted the pervasive silence. I'm still not sure how I feel about that. The stillness and darkness already have brought to me a kind of tranquility I've never yet experienced.

"...in a coma for, what, twenty-four hours now? Chances of ... lower and lower as time passes."

"Yes... keep him on life support."

"...three weeks... then it'll be unlikely..."

I strained to hear them, because they never spent too much time in my proximity. Even my brother and sister acted like I was infected with an incurable plague. I still got the gist of the meaning, though.

I've got twenty-one chances to wake up. Twenty-one days left to live.

But all I can do now is count away the days.

☾

I'm pretty sure this is not normal. I've always been under the impression that people in comas are blissfully unaware of their surroundings, like they're caught in an extended period of sleep. And I think I am right, too. That I should be unconscious. My family and the doctors all act that way- like I am not in the room, like I cannot hear them, like my body is but a prop settled in underneath tangled white sheets and hooked up to noisy machines.

It hurts my heart that I'm giving my parents so much grief. Sophie and Levi are handling my condition better than they are, but not by much. Once, Sophie sat down near my bed, and silently held my large hand in her smaller, more delicate one. I appreciated it more than she probably would have thought. If anything, I'd wake up for her. To see her joyful face yet again, watch her walk down the aisle, ask her for advice. If only I could dictate the course of my life, I'd wake up.

But my body is attached to me by a single thread. It is a prison confining my mind and my soul, and that is all it is to me now. I have no control over it, and I've already accepted this fact, too quickly, perhaps, and all I've done all day is long for the ultimate escape. But I won't truly give up just yet. It's not the right time to do so; my gut is telling me to persevere. And so, I will, but I don't think I can stop the darker thoughts from clouding over my mind.

Life is like an hourglass, where each grain of sand is a passing day. But my hourglass has been shattered, and all the sand is suspended outside, not in life nor in death. And I don't know if there is even a chance for me at living a normal life again.

Who knew that just one unlucky day could turn you from a normal, walking, talking, happy person into someone who is depressed and comatose?

It's funny, really. Just this morning, I was rushing to buy bagels for our daily family breakfast, hoping that I could get to the store without getting stuck in traffic. It was my turn to cook and do some grocery shopping, but I had forgotten to stop by the supermarket and I ended up oversleeping today. If I didn't throw together some kind of meal, the entire family would have to do without breakfast, since our refrigerator was practically empty and our pantries bare. And trust me, you never want to see Levi without breakfast - it would be a scary sight.

God, I really should stop talking to myself. My headache is killing me, so I'll stop now. I don't want to spend twenty-one days as a crazy person.

From, Everett