The Last Hurrah
I wake to the same sound as I do every morning, the sound of squeaky wheels running along the laminate floor. I’d been lying here for a little over two weeks now, my life becoming one of those sad scenes in a movie. The scene where you have an ill person lying in a hospital bed and the whole world moves at high speed – time-lapse if you prefer a technical word – and the ill person lying there, not moving. Stuck in a state where they can’t cater for themselves.
Watching my entire life drain away from me was hard, harder than finding out I wouldn’t survive into my forties. The sheer fact that I won’t be able to achieve anything, or do anything, until the day I die is heart breaking. The friends I’d make lying here would leave one day, leaving me alone, having found their peace while I was still stuck in hell.
Those people were the only people I had. My parents didn’t make it through the day that I managed to escape; them themselves have found peace, high above me.
The day still haunts me. The sights, the sounds, embedded into brain, inescapable. They reply, over, over, over and over, like a playlist stuck on repeat.
The only time I escape the thoughts of the day is when the nurse comes, to talk to me, to make sure I am feeling as well as I can. Her name is beautiful, just like herself, but it never sticks in my mind. Her face, however, does, the only thing imprinted clearly into my brain as the events of the day, the day that left me trapped, hopeless. And dying.
Well, with FM16 upon us, I thought I’d start my story now. But there is one small issue - I am not sure how much time this year I am going to have. I’ll try and update, but I can’t guarantee it to be regular.