Six Feet Under

She did not know how long she had been there. Time seemed like a foreign concept at that moment. She did not want to know how long it had been since she had gotten there; she just wanted to know how. Who had brought an orphan girl with nothing to identify her by, to the hospital? Or at least that was where she thought she was.

The pillows under her head were soft, judging from the fact that she felt like she was lying on clouds. That could have also been because she had probably been unconscious for more than a day and she was lightheaded because of that, but she chose to believe the less depressing option. The next thing she noticed was the constant beeping of machines that were undoubtedly attached to her and had probably alerted the doctors of her return to consciousness.
Any other person in her place would have been relieved at the prospect of being awake and alive; of surviving, but she was dreading the moment when they would ask her to open her eyes. She would open them and see unfamiliar faces, and hear unfamiliar voices.

They would tell her how long she had been in a coma and that she was lucky to be alive. Then they would ask her who she wanted them to call; any family member or friend whom she wanted to see. She felt her heart clench at the thought of them looking down at her with pity in their eyes as she told them that there was nobody.

She lay there for what felt like eternity but was probably only a couple of minutes before the doctors were at her side, murmuring to each other in hushed voices. She could not make out what they were saying but she had a feeling it was about how lucky she had been to be able to live after an accident like that. She had always been hearing that phrase.

"You're so lucky, Maria," her mother had always told her. She was lucky she had a family, a home and food on the table for her three times a day. She had never taken her seriously.

But now as the doctors began talking in slightly louder voices and started asking her to open her eyes to see a world where she had nobody left, to tell them if she could hear them, when in reality the only people she wanted to hear were gone, she began to realize just how lucky she had been before everything had gone to hell.

Her mind flashed back to sunlit mornings and strolls in the park with her mother and loud, obnoxious sisters whom she had never been able to stand. She began thinking about all the times her father had reprimanded her about being too selfish and felt warm tears behind her eyelids.

"Miss?"

Somebody was talking to her, tapping her arm, but she blocked it all out, choosing to stay in that bubble she had created for herself: where her family was still with her and she was still lucky to have them. She could faintly hear the doctors talking in the background now. They were debating why she was not responding. Her vitals were normal and she was not in a coma anymore.

They talked about the possibility of her tongue being paralyzed as was usual in some cases, before ruling it out. But she was not there with them.

She was back home; at the breakfast table where she was complaining about having to eat eggs instead of waffles, and her sisters were arguing about who got the car for the day while her mother was sipping her tea. In a few moments, her father would snap and tell her to 'eat the damn eggs,' because that was all she was getting, and she would cross her arms in defiance. Her mother would then slam her mug down and tell her sisters to be grateful they even had a car in the first place before turning to her and ordering her to eat what she had been given and not be like one of the snobs she went to school with.

"Miss, please try to open your eyes." She ignored that voice and clung onto the only place she wanted to go.

Home. She was still there with her parents and sisters. Her sisters finally came to an agreement; Anna would get to keep the car till four, and then Sarah would take it to her friend's house. Her father had picked up his paper and her mother was drinking her tea again. She was sitting there, looking around at them all with that familiar feeling of repressed anger and disgust inside her. Why couldn't she...

"Miss, can you hear me?" She wanted to stay in that place forever; stuck in time, even if it was not real. Willing her eyes to stay closed, she pressed her lips into a thin line. She felt her nails digging into her palms as she tried to concentrate on that particular memory. But then she felt someone gently trying to unclench her fists so her arms were folded over her stomach and that same gentle voice spoke again.

"Miss, you have to try to talk."

And then she was back in her living room and it was nighttime. She felt a chill go down her spine and knew she was crying. Her father was telling her to run; to get out of the house while he went upstairs and got her mother and sisters. With the stench of smoke and burning wood hanging in the air, she knew she only had moments before the fire reached the living room and brought the whole house down. So she ran. She was running out the front door, not daring to look over her shoulder to see if her family had made it out alive.

She was still running when she felt the heat on the back of her neck and legs and that was when she knew that the fire had reached far beyond the door to the living room; it must have enveloped the entire house. When she looked over her shoulder, she was standing in the middle of the street and the only proof that a house had once been there was a pile of burning rubble. The rest of the street was dark. Nobody lived on this side of town except her family so she doubted anyone would notice the burning house.

And then she heard the sound of a car approaching, but she was frozen in place. She saw the headlights getting brighter and the driver waving his arm at her, telling her to get out of the way. But she simply stood there, rooted to the ground as the car got nearer.

She felt like she was six feet under water, clinging onto every memory she could, trying to hold on to something that was gone and would never return. And then, as the nurse began talking again, and she could no longer grasp that distant memory of her mother telling her she needed to stop being selfish or her father ordering her to eat the eggs, when their faces began to blur together. and her house was replaced by ashes and rubble, she let go. As soon as she relinquished her hold on them, she felt her head break through the surface of the sea of memories she had buried herself in and gasped for air.

"Would you like us to call anyone for you, miss?" She must have opened her eyes because the nurse did not sound concerned about that now. Taking a deep, shuddering breath, she shook her head slowly. The nurse's voice was tinged with pity as she said, "Okay, I understand."

A few seconds later, when she thought the nurse had left to call a doctor, she heard her voice again. "You're lucky to be alive."

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This is a short story I wrote for a competition and I just thought I'd post it here. Let me know what you think!