Half Dead

Being half dead, is an interesting experience.

I say half dead, because I wasn't dead - Just - getting there. I was in the middle, between the fire and light, struggling to stay afloat but not heavy enough to be dragged under. Actually being in this place isn't the odd part. We experience this every time we drop to sleep. However, when you're lying in a hospital bed and you're experiencing this for hours on end - it's a little different; people treat you different.

They either treat you like you're fully alive, or completely dead - some have come in sobbing (I say some, there was only the one - Mom.) and others come in patting your shoulders and treating you like you scraped your knee. Some, however, treat you just how you are - alive, but just. They forget that you can still hear, still talk (maybe), and still see. You're just this lump, with a little spirit.

I've tried speaking and moving lately, just to see if I could. Although I like to think I am quite an interesting person, being locked in your own brain with yourself can get a little tiring. I'd like to see something other than re-runs of the most embarrassing times in my life, as well as the occasional specials, such as 'imagine if Alicia had said yes to go with you to the prom!' and 'every embarrassing moment of your life ever', plus, my personal favourite, 'the night your grandfather died and everyone blamed it on you!'. Yes, speaking to something intelligent other than myself was a priority.

When you're in this state of subconcious, people are compelled to tell you the most interesting of things. Things that don't really seem to fit with the situation - things people in usual situations wouldn't feel the need to share with you, things that aren't relevant in any shape or form. Such as my mother, who, once done sobbing at my bedside, decided to tell me about the time she cheated on her maths exam in 10th Grade. I knew that anyway; there was no way she could have gotten an A+, she can't do maths to save her life.

The thing that surprised me most was what my brother decided to tell me. He took the approach where he assumed I couldn't hear, or understand what he was saying, unless he was talking directly to me. I knew exactly what he was doing from the sounds he was making - come on, I was dying, I wasn't stupid. He was stood by the small sink in the corner of the room, his hands on the edge of it, splashing water into his face. I knew that he was crying softly and I knew that he had his hands dug into his hair. I knew he was thinking about me because he was muttering my name under his breath - though, I don't think he was conscious he was doing so.

It was at this point that my brother said something that I never expected him to. I don't think he'll ever utter the words again and frankly, he has no need to. It's irrelevant. But it surprised me. He was very different, to the others who had come in - but on the other hand, painfully similar.

I forgot my brother was human, sometimes.

"Look." He whispered, softly. I don't think he was talking to me - usually he'd hold my hand or something. Not this time. He was still hunched over the sink.

"I know I don't pray to you enough, okay? B-but, I'm desperate. I'm weak. I'm tired and I just - I need some help." His voice was breaking a little which meant he was crying a little bit harder. "I know I'm a bad person. I've.. I've screwed people over, I've broken the law, I've done drugs and drunk myself into the gutter, but.. My brother is not a bad person. My brother is everything I'm not. He'd never hurt a fly - I mean, when he was nine he killed one by accident and cried for half an hour," He laughed softly under his breath and sniffed. I don't remember killing the fly, but to Gerard I assumed it was an important memory. A fond one, maybe. "He's the loveliest, most thoughtful - most interestingly aware person, who lets life fly by him, selecting each person he interacts with carefully and improving their lives the best he can. That's what he does. That's just who he is." I heard the click of his school shoes against the hospital floor as he fell to his knees. He had his hands clasped as if he had his head bowed in a cathedral.

"It's just.. My brother, he's.. he's hurt real bad. And I don't.. think he'll ever make it. You know? And he just.. he never deserved any of this, he doesn't deserve it - so why is he suffering?" He pleaded. I'm not suffering. Not that I'm aware of - yes, I am on the brink of death but that's not suffering. Suffering is being stuffed in a locker for an hour. Suffering is being hit by a drunk man in a car and knocked across the road. Right now I'm hopped up on so many drugs I'm surprised I can comprehend what Gerard is saying, nevermind my own thoughts.

"You're the only one that can do anything. I promise, I'll - I'll go do volunteer work or something, I'll go and help old ladies cross the street if it helps, just - you need to save him. Because I can't."

It was this that surprised me the most. Gerard, is compassionate. He is generous, and loving. He didn't lie about the mistakes though - he has made a fuckload of them. But I love him for them. He's never been religious in his entire life. The only other time I've heard him praying was on Christmas Eve, because he was praying to Santa. He really wanted a new set of brightly coloured felt tip pens, which I had bought him the previous day. Should've seen his face when he opened them - never seen a nine year old happier. To this day, he still thinks they were from Santa. He got me a toy shark, which I screamed at and threw it across the room. It knocked over a lamp and I was sent to my room without Christmas Dinner. He knew it would scare me, though I don't think he ever intended to get me into trouble. But I forgave him, because I love him.

Gerard is a difficult person to get your head around. He's the most absent minded genius you'll ever find - he has no concept of limits or boundaries, except for himself. He'll push you forward into the unknown and hide behind your shoulder, whispering encouragements. He'll surround himself in comfort and lie there for weeks; it'll take you a lot of encouragement and one puppy dog smile you've been working on for a lifetime to get him out of there.

Which was why he surprised me.

 He stood up and found his way to me, clasping my hand in his own like I expected. He was now in the mode where he was talking to me, as if he hadn't just made that speech - as if everything he just said was nullified.

"They're gonna try and pull your plug, tomorrow." He said quietly. I didn't know what that meant but I assumed it meant my life support.

 "I know you can't hear me."

Yeah, right.

He sighed. "There's nothing really in there anymore, is there? You're already gone. I bet you're sat in heaven, just softly laughing at me. I hope you're listening up there. I might not be up there for a while, but I will get there. Eventually." He gripped my hand a little harder - he was probably crying again. I concentrated hard on speaking but it hadn't worked before and it wasn't going to work now. "It's gonna be hard, without you, you know. We were gonna have a band. Leave all the shit behind." His grip was getting furiously tight now. "If that bastard had just gotten out of his car - we'd all be sitting pretty right now. I'd never let anyone hurt you, I promise. I know I've been a bad brother, but there's time for me to start." He pressed his lips softly against my forehead, his tears splashing on me. "I just wish you could.. I love you."

"You're a good brother." I replied, quietly, a little shocked that my concentration on getting a word out had worked. I opened my eyes, feeling rushing back to my body. He was nodding softly before he froze, double taking me.

"Mikey?" He croaked in horror. His mouth had dropped open and his hand was over his mouth. "You're..?"

"I'm." I replied. He laughed softly and threw his arms around me. Problem was, the feeling was rushing back out as fast as it had rushed in. And I knew that I had very little time, and very little words to say in it.

"I bought you those felt tips." I said firmly, staring him in the eye, before letting my subconcious take control. The small, paced beeping that once rung beside me was now spurring out of control and I could see him looking at me, panicked, and bewildered. Perhaps 'I love you' would have been a better decision. I watched as he processed what I said and he smiled, showing his teeth through his evident sobs.

"Sorry about the shark." He reciprocated, laying down his forehead against my chest and holding me, preparing me and supporting me through the jump.

Being half dead is an interesting experience.

Being dead, however, is dull as fuck.