The streets are nothing but empty fields, filled with empty souls who await empty coffins. Reign Humble, subjected to street battle rap as her only means of income is determined to break out of the cycle with her passion for music. The only way to...
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Reign
Beep...
...Beep...
What the hell is that?
Beep...
Ugh...
Beep....Beep...Beep...
"Seriously, what is that?" I groaned in confusion, sitting up with a struggle.
A sharp shock shot up on the right side of my temple and I yelped in pain. I sat back carefully and slowly began to open my eyes. It took my vision a while to regain composure of my surroundings.
As I looked around I saw two empty chairs by the bed I was on and turned to my right to see a view of New York City. It was starting to get dark outside and my heart began to race as I looked ahead at the white city lights and skyscrapers of buildings. I edged closer out of the bed and that sharp pain came back.
Was I in....
No way....
"Ah" I winced. What happened?
What did I do to land myself in a hospital?
An uncomfortable edge pooled in my stomach, the white of the room practically blinding me. I hated hospitals.
I noticed the IV that was poked through my arm. "Help!" I called out, looking around hopefully, "Somebody... someone!" I glared at the lack of response I was receiving from the staff.
I flipped over the sheets to search for the remote that could page a nurse.
The last time I was in a hospital I had the pleasure of witnessing how cruel the streets could be to people like me. I had gotten into a pretty bad fight with the Kent Crew of Harlem. I shattered one their guys's windows of their club in retaliation; but once I looked behind me they had put out three hitter's to track me down.
I could still remember the feeling of the concrete breaking the skin on my feet as I ran away from them, the cool shards of glass that dug into my arms as I swiveled down alleys and backways, only to get caught while I was struggling to climb up a fence.
They had grabbed me by the leg, but I had stubbornly held on to the metal wires, as they tried to yank me down. They got out a concealed knife that I hadn't noticed before in my hast, and slid from my knee cap around to my calf, breaking the skin and tendons.
Then I remember having to lay there and endure all six stiches—awake—as the needles dug into my leg and the smell of antiseptic dominated my senses.
I blinked away the unwanted memory. I wish I got to choose which memories I my mind decided to keep and which ones it decided to throw out.
I pulled aside my hospital gown to trace over the two scars that were left from surgery. I didn't want to be here. I wanted to leave. No amount of pain could keep me here. I'd rather deal with the aftermath by myself.
