An;; sorry this has taken so long, but this week has been busy for me with mocks and stuff, so hopefully when they finish I'll become more active. I've finally completely figured out where I want this story to go and every chapter is already planned out, so hopefully that will help my updates be quicker as I wont constantly be trying to think of new ideas for a few days. I hope you enjoy this and please let me know what you think in the comments. Btw, I'm sorry if this chapter seems confusing, it will all make sense soon.
Lucifers xoxo
Drew's PoV
The tray of food lay untouched on top of the miniature desk beside my hospital bed, gradually gathering dust as the endless hours ticked by at a torturously slow rate, the noise of the clocks arduous ticking seemingly dragging out for eternity. I glanced up at the miserable face every few minutes, expecting hours to have passed me by, yet every time I looked time had only advanced by a minute, if that. Sometimes I'd look and find it only to be thirty seconds that had posses by between my glances, most times even less than that. It was slowly driving me insane and each time I dragged my eyes away from the small, digital clock by the window I would instantly vouch to myself that I wouldn't look again, for the sake of my fragile sanity. Of course, my resolve never did last long and my eyes seemed to be drawn like a bee to honey to the delicate quartz clock, much to my discomfort.
I sighed quietly as I pushed myself back on to the bed and resumed a laying position amongst the cold crisp sheets, deciding that looking up at the plaster chipped ceiling would be more rewarding than staring at the clock, constantly wishing to speed up time. The ceiling above me was probably the only part of my hospital room which hadn't been completely redone before my arrival three years ago and was covered with suspicious black marks and had places where the plaster was slowly peeling off, showing the rotting wooden celling rafters that held the structure together through the gals the previous patients had created. Even the more well kept parts of the ceiling seemed to have no structure or order to it, as there was several bumps in the plaster where the architects hadn't managed to smooth it down to a neat level, and these were evident upon the first glance at the ceiling, and only seemed to grow larger with every glance I took up at the structure. Most people would have been repelled by the sight of it looming above them in such a state and would instantly demanded a better room in a better ward, but in a way, the imperfections of the rotting ceiling offered me a form of strange comfort. The ceiling was the one thing in this hospital that didn't seem to conform to the buildings strict regulations, just like I was.
No one had ever told me I didn't conform as such in words, yet I wasn't completely blind to the ways of the world around me, and the way in which a usual hospital ran its daily operations. I knew I was incredibly different from everyone else here without even having to know a single patients name or ailment. Most people came to the hospital with an easily curable problem such as a minor illness or broken bone, or to accept the cruel reality of their death, with a simple blood test or operation, or even treatment a few times a month, or even just the one times. Either way, everyone knew their future and were able to plan carefully for it, no matter how harsh or horrible that would be for them to accept the hospitals judgement on their health. They could either get better surrounded by doting family and friends or live the remainder or their peaceful life completing their bucket list or fitting in those last few, painful goodbyes as they got ready to leave it all behind, no matter what they cane here for or what they left with. But I couldn't. I didn't know if I would even have a future, or whether my disease was curable or not. I could be stuck here for days, months or even years. And the harsh reality was, I was the only one who gave a shit about that and was willing to make a stand for it. No family came to visit me like they did with the others and if I died tomorrow, I would have no one whom I had to say the harsh goodbyes to, as no one would care. I couldn't fill in my bucket list as I didn't have one, and wouldn't even know where to start with such an item. And it had already been proved that no family would be here to support my recovery through the first three years here. I was the outlier here, the medical miracle that couldn't be fixed and constantly stood out.
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Don't take my memories~Drier
FanfictionDrew Woolnough is twenty years old though some days, he can't even remember who he is, or rather, who he was, let alone how old he is. Barely able to take care of himself, due to the fact that on bad days, he couldn't even remember what he was suppo...
