Thantasia

Michael tried to shake the musty cobwebs from his throbbing skull. Very gingerly he lifted one eyelid to admit the blazing light of a bright afternoon. The powerful odor of isopropyl alcohol permeated his nostrils, giving him a good clue as to his present location. Dimly he was aware of a needle protruding from his wrist with plastic tubing stretching from it upwards. Although he could barely perceive the needle's presence, he knew he did not like it -- it was too confining.

"Welcome to the world of the living," came a voice from the foggy area to Michael's right. Turning his head with care, he strained his eyes to focus upon a smiling, and rather beautiful blonde nurse bending over him.

"Whe.." His voice was very weak, and his mouth very dry.

"Ross Memorial Hospital" was the strong, reassuring reply.

Michael closed his eyes, sinking further back into the pillow, his head slightly spinning. Slowly the pained memories crept back to him... the pills, the whisky, the half-hearted attempt to end a life now so insignificant to the world.

"How are you feeling?" She asked tenderly.

Michael quite honestly didn't know. Nor was he sure he wanted to. He decided the

best thing to do was to close his eyes and try the world again tomorrow.

"You had quite a battle," came the persistent chirping from the fog. The nurse's voice pierced his clouded consciousness, forcing him to try again to open his leaden eyes. "The doctors must have worked on you for half the night you came in. You've been in a coma for over 48 hours. It was close, they were afraid they lost you. " She smiled softly trying to be reassuring. She wasn't.

Cheerful news to wake up to. He couldn't even kill himself properly.

"The doctor will be in shortly to see you," the nurse continued. "In the meantime, would you like me to crank the bed up a little?"

Michael managed a weak nod. He soon heard and felt the rumbling of the bed as it shifted its position, raising his head up. Michael cracked a wry smile as he thought that they wouldn't have to worry about raising his feet.

As his senses cleared, he surveyed his immediate environment. He apparently was in a semiprivate hospital room, in a fairly modern hospital -- at least the walls and fixtures had the crisp, efficient, modern look. To his right was a nightstand containing a pitcher of water and an empty cup. On his left was the IV set-up with a upside -down bottle half-empty with a clear, but obviously fairly thick fluid funneling though a valve and into clear plastic tubing terminating at his left wrist. Further to his left was another bed, which was empty.

A window admitting the bright sunlight was to his right, but no flowers decorated its sill. Michael sighed...not a single flower.

The nurse apparently noticed the sadness dwelling in his eyes for she reached down to hold his hand tenderly in hers.

"You've had a lot of visitors coming or calling since you've been here." She said, trying hard to sound sincere. Michael looked away. She didn't lie too well. The truth is, very few people probably even know where he is, and even fewer cared.

"I was a big fan of yours in college." She said softly, apparently sensing the building tenison..

Michael could sense her awkwardness in talking. She obviously was afraid of saying anything that would or could upset him. Her concern seemed genuine as she probably had been there quite some time, waiting for him to come to life. He managed to try and smile back at her.

"Another Brett Favre..." he said faintly, as he let his gaze come to rest on their intertwined hands. He noticed with a sense of irony that she was playing with the enlarged ring on his finger. He wondered why they hadn't removed it. Probably because his fingers were too fat.