I heard the sound of a weak beeping noise. I tried to open my eyes but they felt like they were glued together, my hands wouldn't move, so I couldn't know for sure that they actually were. I felt like death, everything hurt like I haven't moved in forever. I heard someone open the door and I tried to tell them I wanted a glass of water, my mouth was as dry as a desert.
Someone pried my eyes open- they weren't stuck after all- and blasted a bright flashlight right into my pupils. I screamed for they to stop, yet no sound came out.
" Still no change..." a tired woman's voice mumbled. I wanted to ask her why I couldn't move, speak or even see. I screamed at the top of my lungs, I flunked my arms around and kicked, but my body wouldn't move.
This is the way it had been for the last... God know how many days. A nurse would come check on me every three hours or so, I counted the seconds. They poked me with a sharp object with no name, injected a fluid with no color and I would tell they to stop, every time I would tell them to stop, to tell me where Thomas was, if he even lived.
When I thought of Thomas, my husband, a foggy memory would surface, pictures- horrible pictures- would flash. Yet I never really focused on them. Sometimes I could see his smile in front of me, but it was just a copy, not a good one either. I was sure it was a bad copy I saw projected onto my retinas- another memory slowly slipping away. I think it was because I never felt his hands in mine, never his soft lips upon mine. Sometimes a woman's hand would hold mine tight, and she would read me books I had already read.
The doctor who still was in my room suddenly started speaking with someone whose voice I didn't recognize. The unknown woman's voice was soft, caring. I felt her warm hand caress mine.
"Is she any better?" she asked.
"No change, and as I said before, she'll never wake up from this coma...." And there's when I stopped listening. Coma? No way! And who was the woman who kept asking if I was alright. And why wouldn't anyone tell me what the bloody beeping sound was?
I felt the sharp object with no name poke me again and my consciousness slipped away into a dream.
In the dream I saw myself as a little girl, with my blonde pigtails swaying behind me as I ran after one of my childhood friends, we were playing. I remembered that day, when the sun stood high on the sky, I had seen him, my Thomas. He and his family had moved in the house next to mine. Another memory flashed, I was now in my mothers garden picking carrots for dinner with my little sister. I saw my fourteen year-old self standing up and straightening my back and seeing Thomas across the white fence. I saw myself smile and wave at him, only to be ignored.
My birthdays, all the Christmases we'd celebrated, my first kiss with the love of my life, my wedding, all of my happy memories.
Suddenly I was at my sisters funeral, eyes red and stinging from crying, my mother beside me. She'd gotten sick, there was nothing we could do, but still, I felt my heart aching when I thought about it.
In the memory I was now reliving we were back in London, and everyone ran, screamed, cried. Mothers held their children tight with one arm, and a bag with necessities in the other. I saw Thomas running by where I stood, he was calling for someone, but I all i heard was the whining sound of a bomb. I closed my eyes waiting for the bomb to it the ground. I opened my eyes, and all I saw was destruction. Houses was baleen away, the few people that didn't have time to find safety were quickly made into dust. And there I stood, a mere ghost surrounded by death.
This was the first bomb to hit, but before I could escape the memory, three, no four, more bomb hit the ground. I felt the world tremble beneath my bare feet, and a blast of warmth would hit my face. The sirens was always there in the background, a wage, ringing sound.
I started to wonder, when I stood there with my eyed closed and the bombs flying by, what memory would be next. What hell I would had to live though again. As the previous memory faded in to a new one, I tried to run, but me feet were stuck to the ground. I tried to shut my eyes, but they were wide with shock and horror.
The new scene finally took place before me and the first thing I noticed was the sirens, just like in the last memory. I was in my house, the one me and Thomas had gotten after the bombs hit. I saw him casually, like he'd done it a hundred times before, walk out of the door with our emergency bag, me and our three week old daughter trailed after him. We didn't run, we didn't scream, we didn't think this was going to be anything special.
I saw myself chatting with Thomas, I remembered that chat very clearly. We were confessing our love, just as any other time the siren went of. Just to be sure that if we died, the last thing we ever heard would be a simple "I love you". Not that we thought we would, we were invincible young people, we were going to grow old together, have grandchildren.
The sun was just about to set, a light wind whirled around us. If it weren't for the planes above us, it would have been romantic. But we slowly realized that we wouldn't make it to the safety-room. Thomas looked over at me, smiling apologetically, taking my hand and started to run. The bombs had started falling behind us, smoke slowly making it's way into our lungs, making it harder to breath. My heart beat fast, not only because we'd ran, but with the panic.
Thomas dropped the bag, my daughter cried and the smoke made our noses run and eyes water. My lungs burnt I and was sure I could run for much longer, but the planes were still circling in the sky, dropping bombs wherever they wanted to. We had past the bunker long ago, but the bombs were still falling and we coulnd't go back.
I covered my daughters mouth with a piece of her shirt, I didn't want her to breath in the smoke. Thomas' hand hold mine with a crushing grip as he kept pulling me forward. He looked worse than I felt, but he kept running. I could no longer force my self forward, so I knew it weren't safe and I knew the smoke was dangerous, but I couldn't go on anymore. I tugged on Thomas's arm, I coughed, and I stopped.
He looked at me with desperation in his blue eyes, and then he looked at our daughter. I knew she wouldn't make it much longer, so I held her up with my arms shaking, giving her to the one I trusted, his eyes now confused.
"Take her" I mumbled between coughs. I smiled weakly up at him, as he took the child out of my arm. "Be safe" He kissed my cheek, turned around and ran.
I curled up next to the wall I collapsed next to. Tears streamed down my dirty face leaving streaks of clean skin. I started to lose my consciousness as I heard a bomb, the ground shook and I knew I wouldn't make it out of this one. At least they were safe, I didn't matter...
Someone squeezed my hand again, mumbling 'I'm sorry' and so the beeping sound started to slow down, my lips curled up in an imaginary smile as I saw my beautiful Thomas standing beside me, wanting to take my hand.
And it all turned silent.
AN/: First of all I'd like to start out with that Iby no means intend to offend anyone, nor am I an historian so I probably have gotten a lot of things wrong. Also, the "present time" of the story is not meant to be set in the present, more like the late 60's or early 70's- just to clear things up. The hospital/ doctor is most likely wrong to, but what the hell. It was fun writing!
