The Pauras (SEQUEL)

Keep Fighting

I woke up to the feeling of being weighted down by a hundred pounds. My arms felt like they hadn't moved in ages; my muscles seemed non-existent. Sometimes was tickling my nose, like a constant, tiny airflow was moving past it, but there was no odor. All I could hear was a constant shrill beeping of a machine next to my head. I tried to understand where I was. I didn't feel like I was in a hospital bed. It felt softer, the sheets not so scratchy.

There was a sound, feet on the ground walking towards wherever I was. I strained my eyes to open, but the only thing I managed to do was create a small headache that began to form behind my eyes. If I could, I would have sighed, but it didn't sound any different to the my normal breathing.

"It's been three weeks," the voice belonged to that of a woman that I knew. I tried to remember where I knew her from, but a deep voice answered before I could search my memory hard enough.

"I know," was all it said. I wanted to frown, to understand the pain behind the two words. He also sounded familiar.

"Every day that you sit in here is a day that you are neglecting the people who are still here for you. Not everyone died in that room." Someone died? Did they think I was dead? Was I the reason they had been in here for three weeks?

"They aren't my family," the voice replied back.

"I know that times have been rough, but you can't blame everyone who cares about you for what happened in the arena that day," the soft voice of the woman said. I wondered what happened to create the suffering that I could feel in the room.

"I don't blame them," the low voice said. My lack of being able to make an expression was starting to get on my nerves as I wanted to understand what was happening. No one knew that I was awake, that I could hear, and the more they talk the more questions began swimming through my sluggish mind.

"Then who are you blaming?"

There was a long pause, as if the low voice was thinking to themselves. I wondered what name was going to come out of their lips as we waited, the soft voice and I, for the answer.

"Myself." The woman didn't respond this time, and instead I heard nothing from either of them. My heart yearned to comfort the low voice, like it was my duty to make sure they were okay. I strained every muscle in my body that I could but nothing was happening. I began to panic, trying to fight against what my body wanted as I mentally awoke every muscle in my body, but still nothing was happening.

"Do you see that?" the low voice asked, his voice changing from low and regretful to astonished. What was happening? Was someone else here? Had I managed to move something? In the hopes of keeping their attention, I continued to mentally shove my body around. That's when I heard what they were talking about. The beeping on the machine was faster than it had been before.

"You told me that there was no hope. You told me that-"

"The brain showed no activity for three times that we checked in the two week period. Medically there was no reason for hope," the woman reasoned, her voice getting closer and closer. I heard her to the right of my head.

"Well then you should have scanned for brain activity a fourth time," the lower voice was enraged. I wanted to calm them down. I wanted to reach out my hand and tell him that he shouldn't be angry at her. I wanted him to stop blaming her.

"Sir, I am sorry for trying to protect you from another round of depression, but now there is a chance for coma communication where the patient can hear what is going on around them. Do you really want the first thing to be heard to be anger?" the woman asked. Don't make him feel bad, I wanted to yell at her.