Untitled by Jane Doe

Friday, April 08, 2016 KELS 0 Comments Category :

A laugh. An uproar.
Excited voices. Happy voices. Slightly slurred voices.
You’re in no position to drive. And you’re a wuss.
The discussion is settled.
The scene is set.

A sudden brake. But not sudden enough.
A scream. An uproar.
Panicked voices. Interested voices. Mildly curious voices.
A blaring siren. Flashing lights. An ambulance rushing into the picture. But not rushing fast enough.
A blank license plate rushing out. Rushing fast enough. And gone.
Three pairs of hands. One, two, three, lift. A loud thud. Loud but lifeless.
Blaring sirens. Flashing lights. The ambulance struggling to rush.
Neon signs. Pointing to the building of life. Pointing to the building of death. Pointing to the building of tremendous paradox.
Gurney wheels rolling. Jerky movements over broken marble tiles. Pushing open a set of closed doors.

And now the wait.
Blurry eyes. Silent prayers. Directed at the heavens above. Directed at the closed doors ahead.
Hurried hands. Skilled hands. Desperate hands.
Clean. Stitch. Blood. Stat.
Stat. Stat. Stat.
One, two, twenty-nine, thirty. Fresh hands taking over.
Crack. A broken rib. One, two, twenty-nine, thirty. More fresh hands.
One, two, twenty-nine, thirty. Running out of fresh hands.
A machine beeping. Beeps are good. Beeps mean life.
Ripped open sterile packages. New syringes. Discarded syringes.
A long beep. One long beep. Singular. Never-ending. Piercing.
One, two, twenty-nine, thi---Stop, that’s enough. But---There’s no point, time? Maybe if we---The time?
3.12 am.
No more hurried movements. No more flurry of hands. No more beeping.
Only the sound of rustling papers. Official-looking papers. Meaningless papers.

The wait is over.
We are sorry. No!
We tried our best. No!
Watery eyes. Shrill cries. Directed at the heavens above. Directed at the faces ahead.
Hands beating chests. Hands clenched into fists. Hands wiping away tears.
Gurney wheels rolling. Jerky movements over broken marble tiles. Pushing open the set of closed doors.
A mound of white sheet. No rhythmic rise or fall. No warmth.
No life.

The aftermath.
Unanswered questions. Unheard prayers.
Swollen eyes. Accusing glances. Directed at the heavens above. Directed at every sign of life ahead.
Comforting hands. Rejected comforting hands. Hands not knowing what to do with themselves.
Phone calls. Condolences. Uncomfortable silences. Awkward hugs.
Food. Lots of food. Food left untouched. Food given away. Still more food. Until there is none.
But hunger is no more unpleasant. Hunger is welcome.
A call to prayer. Ignored. A strange form of vengeance. A twisted logic. But logic is never welcome amidst the chaotic company of deathly stillness.

Looking for solace. Finding it. But not really. Not yet.
Maybe eventually.
Dry eyes. Numb regards. Directed at the heavens above. Directed at every inquiring look ahead.
A deep breath. A squaring of shoulders. A shaking of head. A clearing of mind.
Beginning to move on. No. Beginning to begin to move on.
A smile. Finally. Subtly. Slightly. Mistakenly?

Acceptance; isn’t that the most tragic part though?

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