When the Lights Go Out {complete first draft}

Epilogue - If I Just Save You, You Can Save Me Too

I woke up with an epiphany. This wasn’t really about finding out what I did wrong, I wasn’t reliving my last day over because of that. This had nothing to do with me. I wasn’t being tortured for what I was doing wrong. I was being given more time.  That’s all. I was given the time to say goodbye to the ones I loved. 

                  When I woke up, I opened my eyes. The room was white, and looked exactly the same as it had when I’ve been pulled, many times, from my paradox world. Little green blobs floated in and out of focus, and view, but they were such a contrast against the white. And then, suddenly, it looked like someone had focused a camera, and I could see everything.

                  There my mother was, in the little plastic chair, wearing the green scrubs that the hospitals always made people wear on the worse wards. She was next to dad, who looked like he hadn’t shaved for a few days. They were holding hands, squeezing as hard as they could, willing each other to just hold on, to not leave, to stay there. My brother was next to them with his hood up. My father put his free arm around my brother, cuddling him. It looked like he was sleeping. It was nice to see that he was peaceful, in this moment, in such a busy, frantic place. My sister, with George, was sipping a cup of coffee although her hands were shaking and her eyes were far from a little red. George was stroking her head, playing with little strands of her hair to calm her down. Vincent was beside the bed, with his head down. His shoulders were moving, and it looked like he was sobbing. I wanted to lift my hand and tell him that it was OK but I couldn’t. Imogen, instead, put her hand on his shoulder, as she was behind him.

                  And then, there I was. I saw myself, lying on the bed, with tubes sticking in and out. I was having an out of body experience. I wasn’t waking up. All those times I’d been pulled here, was me being pulled back to the real world. I could see, from the notes on the table, that I had been responding a few times, but nothing major, nothing substantial. So I had been waking up, but not wide enough to keep me here.

                  And yet, here was my family, all of my family, standing around my bed, comforting each other, coming together in this tragedy. I didn’t know how my parents got to the point where they were holding hands, but maybe it was just because I was theirs, and they were losing a part of each other and themselves, and they couldn’t leave anymore. My sister, and George, was together. It’s one thing I hoped for when I was in that other world. I wanted them to see that they needed each other, and they realised it to, without my help, in the real world.

                  I was on a life support machine. Lots of noises and signals beeped around the room. The room had lots of artificial light in, and although the blind was half closed, I could see that it was getting dark. I was running out of time. Soon, I’d be back in my paradox world, dying again, waiting for the day to reappear. Or would it? Was this finally it? Would I die, or would I go back to my crazy new world? I didn’t know. Life was full of surprises, ones I had no control over. But I had said goodbye, and I think that was the key here. I had used my extra time wisely, I guess, to do something should have been given the chance to do before I died. Well, technically, I didn’t die. I was alive, barely, but alive. I hadn’t died that day, I’d just gone into a coma, and was slipping in and out of consciousness from time to time. That was all in my head.

                  But then a sadness grew through me. Although I was in a coma, if I was really going to get out of it, I would have regained consciousness; I would have pulled myself out of this. Was this the end? Was I not waking up from this? I didn’t know, but for a minute, I didn’t care. I had all my family here. And they had come together, realizing how much they needed each other. Because the most important thing about life wasn’t what we did with it, but who we have in it. 

SO THIS IS THE END OF THIS BOOK, GUYS, I KNOW IT'S SLOW, BUT THIS HAS TAKEN ME A COUPLE OF YEARS START TO FINISH BECAUSE UNTIL THESE LAST TWO MONTHS, I'VE BEEN PUTTING IT OFF. OH WELL. IT'S DONE NOW. By the way, the inspiration for Marisol's name came from Emily Osment's song, Marisol. I thought the name was pretty :3