Magnolia in May [H.S]

Part forty-nine

"It looks as though you're lettin' go."
"And if it's real, well, I don't wanna know."

"I know what you're thinkin'."
"I don't need your reasons."

"Don't tell me cause it hurts."

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Harry

-- -

"Harry? Are you listening?"

"Yes, mum." I simmer out loud, watching her head of black hair move as she scrapes the paint onto the pallet. It strands around her back, curls swaying. The sound of the metal in the clacking fills my ears. "So you have to mix blue and yellow together." I nod when she looks back at me with her green eyes, diligently admiring the work of art she was creating. I wait patiently, using my hands to try and prop me so I can see what she's doing.

Her smile was bright, a reminder of how much I missed when we did fun things like this. I loved when she was happy and wanted to paint with me.

She gestures, grabbing my hand for me to look at the pallet of color. I sit on the tips of my toes, peeking up at the easel. Awash of dark emerald paste lay on the pallet.

"See, green like your eyes," Her smile was something I'd never get used to, it was seldom but when she did you couldn't look away. I swipe my finger through the paint, wiping it on her bent down face, she squeals at me.

"Harry!" My mum scolds in a laugh, taking a cloth from the raised counter and clearing off what I put on her nose.

She bends down to scoop me up, tickling my sides with frenzy. "You little bugger!" She exclaimed poking me so I giggled out loud. "Mum, stop!" I canter out, my sides attacked by her hands. She starts to laugh with me, tickling and peppering a kiss on my forehead. Our laughter fills my ears. Sirens. Laughter- Sirens.

The bright yellow light trickles away in a disquieted instance, dots of black infected my vision. Sirens.   

No. Please. No. 

A blood-curdling yelp ringing on a loop, the blaring sirens of an ambulance. My skin cold to the touch, frostbitten so much so it was numb. Incoherence circulated my conscience, the swallowing darkness consumed me whole. Cold. It's so cold, why is it so cold? Where am I? I can't see anything. Pitch black, fuzzy, my head is foggy - I'm tired.

My limbs were out of my own control, detached. A thick dead tepid brick rested on my surface. Left leg - burning with searing pain, lungs on fire. "Tap your— if you hear me." Chatter replayed like a terribly broken record. 

Laughter, go back to the laughter.

I hear what I think is a woman's voice, she sounded rushed - a place to be, things to do. Where am I? Why won't my eyes open? My leg hurts, my lungs feel thick. "You'll be alright— we're gonna— okay?" The pain increases tenfold, my chest aching with fury, it warranted a scream but not one was heard.

Dizzy, I'm tired. Heaviness in the center of my head, my eyes weighing me down, body melting away. I was floating, the pain depleting farther and farther from sight. Racing thoughts calming into quiet oblivion. Breaths now far, few between, nonexistent in the abundance of peace.
"No-no — you need— wake up." A pressure secomes me, pain rushing back in to take my tranquility. Conscience shaking back to the surface, it's dark. 

My leg, why does it hurt?

-- -

"What's his— Harry?"