Writing competition – First place winner
Diversion by Cheralea Rogan
So far, the coma has lasted two weeks. It's not so bad. Mostly, there's just a lot of waiting. There are beeps and whirring that mark the time. And me. The machines that are keeping me going, I suppose. It's hard to tell, with your eyes closed. I can feel the bed under me and the tubes in my throat, the needles in my skin but not much else. I miss feeling.
The nurses talk to me. Not the doctors. They just talk over me. I'm a thing for them. A machine to be kept ticking along. Or switched off. Eventually. Not thinking too much about that right now though. Stay hopeful. Stay positive. Critical but stable. Unresponsive.
No but the nurses do talk to me. Not much that's really worth listening to but it's nice to feel like I'm still here in the world. They ask me how I am and tell me how well I'm looking and what the weather's like. Sunny, apparently. I miss the sun. Any kind of weather really. The rain on my face, the cold. The temperature's always the same here. Climate controlled. But some conversation is better than nothing. Is one person talking a conversation? I wonder what they'd do if I replied. I wonder if they'd notice. Mostly, I think they're on autopilot. Friendly, professional but not really paying attention. Not that there's much of me to pay attention to at the moment, to be fair. I'm not at my intellectual best. I think though, if I sat up and started reciting poetry, they might not even notice. The bells and whistles I'm attached to would have to go off before I got anyone's attention. I only exist right now because these machines say I do. I'm just a set of vital statistics and not the swimsuit kind, either. Heartbeat, pulse, oxygen, not chest, hips and waist. Sexy. On that note, I doubt I look that good by now, either. Bed baths turn out to be less fun than you'd think. And they never dry between my toes. I'm sure the shampoo they use is something industrial from the cleaning cupboard, too. Salon Toilet Duck. Because I'm worth it. No, I think I'm probably looking pretty bad by now.
To clarify what I said before, there are a few nurses who still seem to think I'm human, which is ... nice. A relief, if I'm honest, because sometimes I don't think I really am anymore. I seem to have come such a long way from being human.
A brightly lit kitchen, a young woman hurries from counter to counter, then to the large table in the centre of the room. She pats the pockets of her jeans and frantically rummages through her bag. Her eyes catch on a bread bin in one corner and she rushes to it, throwing open the lid as if she expects to surprise whatever is inside. She grabs the bunch of keys lying there and grins triumphantly. Turning, she pauses to pet a small brown and white cat, before running out the door.
I was so excited that day. So nervous. A new job. My first day. I had so many ideas. Plans. I was going somewhere. Not just a new job, my first career.
Low white house. Grey clouds scudding across the sky, just above it. The woman's wild hair, blowing around her, turning darker in the rain. A quick dash, head lowered against the wind, fumble for keys, then a disorganised tumble into the driver's seat.
I'm not really sure where all that's gone. Of course, it's gone here. This hospital. And I know how I got here, I suppose. But the thing is, I don't know if this is the destination or if I'm still on the journey. I don't know where I'm going anymore.
Trees flick past as the car travels quickly down a narrow road. One after another, stark and clear against the sky.
I always liked that, how they whizzed by, too fast to really see but distinct at the same time. Tree. Tree. Tree. Then a blotch of bright green hedge. Flying past but still sharp against everything else. Beautiful. It's good to hold onto the things that were clear. The little details before everything changed direction.
The car speeds down a country lane, cutting Rain swept away by the windscreen wipers. The woman smiles as she glances at her phone and notes the caller on the screen.
"Stacey! Hi! No, I'm on my way now. I know, I know. I lost my keys. I should still make it on time though. No, I forgot my blue tooth ... It's okay, I'm in the middle of nowhere. Isn't the weather awful?"
In the distance, blurred by the rain, another car approaches.
So, that was that. The last thing I heard was Stacey telling me to hang up, watch the road. She came to see me but her tears made my skin wet, like the rain.
In the road, Two cars sit at odd angles to each other, the bonnet of one ground into the driver's side of the other.
Smoke rises from each, a spreading pool of oil gathering beneath. A man emerges, shocked and bloodstained as he staggers away from the wreckage.
"Hello?" he says into his mobile phone, "hello? I need an ambulance."
They're all here. Doctors. Nurses. Mum and dad. Even Stacey. They're talking but I can't hear what they're saying, the machines make too much noise. Someone's holding my hand. Dad. And Mum. And Stacey. It's raining again. My skin is wet. Drip. Drip. Funny that the rain is warm. Is it rain?The machines are getting slower. Like me.
Beep... beep... beep...
Can hardly hear them now.
Beep.... beep....
So far away. But it's me that's moving.
Beep..... beep.....
Guess this wasn't the destination, after all.
Beep...... beep......
Wonder where I'm going now.
Beep......
Here I go again.
Copyright: Cheralea Rogan 2016