I’m looking down at the petite girl, too big for the bed, hooked on to life support. It takes a moment for realization to hit me. And when it does, it gets me like a speeding train.
I don’t want to die. I’m floating outside my comatose body and screaming, “Wake up, wake up, WAKE UP!” I want to give myself a good shaking. I want to slap that once pretty face, which now looks like Frankenstein’s bride’s, maybe worse, till I open those brown eyes again.
I used to be happy. I used to be good. I was popular, I know I was. I used to be – what’s that word? – ALIVE. Look at me now. Brain dead. Three days gone. This uncertainty is gut-wrenching, even though I can’t feel anything. I’m trying to remember what happened before. What was I doing? Oh, I was on my way to see my best friend, who said she needed to talk to me, and it was super urgent.
I remember how she wouldn’t stop texting, and I had to keep reassuring her I was on my way.
I remember trying to swerve.
I remember a sharp pain, like a drill boring a hole in my skull.
And then… This.
Three days and no visitors. I never even got to meet this guy in person, this guy I met online. Does he know? We were supposed to finally meet on Sunday. Wait, that’s tomorrow. Where is my phone? This is what happens when you’ve got no family. No parents. Siblings, even. Nobody cares. I’m just thinking about it when I see my best friend, bff, peas in a pod, whatever. Pulling the plug.
I wish I could say no. But I can’t. It’s horrible, watching her unplug me.
Rest in peace, another dot on the map, another life only half lived.
Image Credits: Google.