Oblivion of Barley

A short story from the perspective of a coma patient.
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"Good Morning Mr Barlich, we've come to do the morning routine once more," So that was his name, one that didn't sit quite right in his mind. He wished he could reply, say hello and ask what the weather or maybe what his first name was. Instead, he listened in as a soft voice spoke.

"How long has he been like this?"

"Seven months... It started as an induced coma but he's been off the Pentobarbital and on Ritalin for six of those."

"Why doesn't he wake? He should be healthy now, right?"

"Sometimes it's a wee bit more than some bandages and medication," the third voice chimed in, soft like the second only instead of a warm accent it was more standard like the rough voice.

"You mean trauma?"

"Perhaps, we can't be too sure... His noggin just needs a bit more time."

"How much time has he got...?"

The rough voice moved closer as it spoke, "When his emergency contact pulls the plug, until then you will be taking care of him alongside your other assigned patients-"