aaron_the fall of america_chapter_37

Chapter 37

The previous day nearly killed me.

It was so violent that I had to block it out of my mind as hallucination. Everything in my memory could be explained as hallucination. Though I recognised nothing, everything seemed familiar. Waking would be my goal. It seemed obvious that I had a serious accident and that I was in a coma. Knowing I was in a coma was clearly the first step to recovery. I was so looking forward to waking and seeing familiar faces.

It is a strange torture I am putting myself through. I am to the point were I'll agree to anything if the torture will stop.

"Please stop."

"Are you not hungry?"

I opened my eves to see a familiar face.

"Who are you?"

"Zizith. I've come to feed and clean you."

"That is nice of you."

The bed was raised to put me in a sitting position, where I was easily fed and cleaned.

I tried to remember the things I knew. There were no certainties to grasp. I saw myself as a vegetable that had been tossed into a pot of boiling water. I would take on the flavour the cook wanted for me. When I was done, maybe I would be given the chance to be part of the stew.

Resist. If my skin was hard enough, I could resist. But what was to be resisted, I had not remembered.

"It mustn't have been important if you can't remember what it was."

"What's that?" Zizith asked.

"Did I speak?"

Zizith had a peculiar sad look. I found it hard to focus on him. I couldn't remember how to be concerned about anything. Zizith held my hand.

"Don't lose yourself," he said.

How could I lose myself? Was I not always wherever I was? How could it be perceived any other way? It would never happen. No one could lose himself. I could understand getting lost but the first thing that would be certain was that it was me at the place of unfamiliarity. Being lost was only relative to familiarity, being where my memory had no means to recall for referencing.

I was tied to a bed. It was obviously my bed. As long as I was tied to my bed, I wouldn't be lost. I could stay in bed and never get lost.

Maybe that was what he had meant. He was trying to help me. If they were taking care of me, they were helping me.

They shouldn't have the ceiling and walls the colour they were. I should remember to tell someone. They make me angry.

"Did you know..." I started.

No one was there to hear me. I thought someone was by my bed but the room was empty. Empty but for me and I felt empty.

I didn't know how to gage time except that I grew increasingly angry. I wanted something to happen. Anything was better than only colour.

When I thought I might have to try to sleep to ease my stress, two figures appeared before me. I expected them to sing to me. It wasn't even necessary to look at them; all I needed was for them to sing.

Their singing would be so grand. I couldn't hold my tears. I knew that if they were singing, I would cry. They were so beautiful.

"Why do you cry?" the woman asked.

"You are so beautiful when you sing."

She smiled.

I was terrified she might not sing.

I saw her limbs reaching out for me.

"This will help you sleep so you will be strong for tomorrow."

I could see she had claws of death and was sure to kill me. I could feel my throat tighten with fear but all I felt was a prick in my arm.

She smiled and watched me disappear.



read on. book_03 chapter_38



by Joanne B. Washington

© 2001 | the jose wombat project