David Simmons, Patient No. 10120230344. Age: 24.
He heard her screaming, heard her crying. He had tried to get someone’s attention, but no one would listen to the crazy man. No, no one would listen to him. He could hear her cries of anguish drifting through the vents and he couldn’t do anything to help her. He cried, slumping against the door to his room, pounding against it uselessly, begging for someone to listen to him. He was cried out, his voice hoarse and almost gone, when they found her. He knew that they had found her, because he heard a doctor call code.
He pulled his knees up to his chest, wishing himself elsewhere. He pressed his puffy eyelids together and pretended he was back in his library, his safe haven. Even there he could hear her crying for help, pleading with him or anyone to rescue her from what was coming. In the end he could do nothing, he was helpless and, for that, he could never be forgiven.
Laughter filled his senses, tugging on him and calling him forward. He couldn’t resist the honey and sugar of those voices, the honeysuckle of those laughs, they were gently pulling him toward them and pushing him past boundaries that could never be re-crossed. He didn’t care, he loved those voices, could drink them in like cool water from a burbling fountain. He opened his eyes, staring into a face carved out of ivory, with eyes of bright sapphire. This face was happy, a beautiful smile filling every piece of sculpture with sparkling light. He turned slightly, his gaze falling upon another face, this carved out of ebony, with white eyes circled by dark emerald. This face was sad, as if every part had been wept over by the sculptor and forever changed because of that sorrow.
They were as different as night and day, yet so alike in nature. Like sisters torn apart by their secrets, but the laughter remained, pulling him away and down a row of books. Further and further he went, dancing and whispering to the voices ahead of him. They kept calling him, kept laughing, honey and sugar. As he got closer the voices began to fade, one voice filled with dissonance and bitter-sweet memories.
“No! Don’t go, please! I’ve finally found what I want, please don’t leave me now!” He called out, again and again, pleading with invisible beings that no longer laughed and now only cried.
“I cannot stay, I cannot go. What am I to do? What am I to do.” A voice filled with smoke and air, sweet and sour, kept crying out to him, stretching out invisible arms to hold him.
“Hear me! Come to me! Take me with you! Please, don’t go!” He stretched his arms out to take that voice into himself, to hold it. As quickly as he came, he was back in that tiny white room with the sound of bustling nurses and screaming patients. All alone with a twin sized bed and his few books, he was still slumped against his door. All cried out, he shed a few more tears, tears for a woman who was dead and a woman who could not stay with him.
He heard her screaming, heard her crying. He had tried to get someone’s attention, but no one would listen to the crazy man. No, no one would listen to him. He could hear her cries of anguish drifting through the vents and he couldn’t do anything to help her. He cried, slumping against the door to his room, pounding against it uselessly, begging for someone to listen to him. He was cried out, his voice hoarse and almost gone, when they found her. He knew that they had found her, because he heard a doctor call code.
He pulled his knees up to his chest, wishing himself elsewhere. He pressed his puffy eyelids together and pretended he was back in his library, his safe haven. Even there he could hear her crying for help, pleading with him or anyone to rescue her from what was coming. In the end he could do nothing, he was helpless and, for that, he could never be forgiven.
Laughter filled his senses, tugging on him and calling him forward. He couldn’t resist the honey and sugar of those voices, the honeysuckle of those laughs, they were gently pulling him toward them and pushing him past boundaries that could never be re-crossed. He didn’t care, he loved those voices, could drink them in like cool water from a burbling fountain. He opened his eyes, staring into a face carved out of ivory, with eyes of bright sapphire. This face was happy, a beautiful smile filling every piece of sculpture with sparkling light. He turned slightly, his gaze falling upon another face, this carved out of ebony, with white eyes circled by dark emerald. This face was sad, as if every part had been wept over by the sculptor and forever changed because of that sorrow.
They were as different as night and day, yet so alike in nature. Like sisters torn apart by their secrets, but the laughter remained, pulling him away and down a row of books. Further and further he went, dancing and whispering to the voices ahead of him. They kept calling him, kept laughing, honey and sugar. As he got closer the voices began to fade, one voice filled with dissonance and bitter-sweet memories.
“No! Don’t go, please! I’ve finally found what I want, please don’t leave me now!” He called out, again and again, pleading with invisible beings that no longer laughed and now only cried.
“I cannot stay, I cannot go. What am I to do? What am I to do.” A voice filled with smoke and air, sweet and sour, kept crying out to him, stretching out invisible arms to hold him.
“Hear me! Come to me! Take me with you! Please, don’t go!” He stretched his arms out to take that voice into himself, to hold it. As quickly as he came, he was back in that tiny white room with the sound of bustling nurses and screaming patients. All alone with a twin sized bed and his few books, he was still slumped against his door. All cried out, he shed a few more tears, tears for a woman who was dead and a woman who could not stay with him.
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