Do you recall the times
You called out in the night
And your voice bounced off the walls,
And all around, in spite?
And you weren’t careful with your words
Because you thought
I was there for every wish
Every lost thought and brokenness;
i stalked your breath and kept your kiss
your secrets enslaved to my shudder and fist
you wanted relief but you sold the release
you are known by unknown entities;
Some haunting-story strokes my arm
And begs so softly, “name me, mother,”
I pull my flesh from dissonant harm
And beat the tale back to be told by another.
It’s a Tuesday. The bell rings and you make your way to your math class. As you’re walking through the hallways, someone bumps into you, casually enough. They say something to you and begin to walk away. Only after they’re gone do you realize that instead of saying “I’m sorry,” they said “wake up.” Feeling confused and slightly annoyed, you soon forget the incident. After your lunch period is over, someone bumps into you again and scatters your books everywhere. As you gasp in dismay and bend to recover your belongings, you look up at the person. An apologetic look flashes over their face as they exclaim, “you’re in a coma,” and begin to walk away. A mixture of emotions, including frustration and annoyance, fight for dominance inside you. Only when you stand and consider the stranger’s parting words does the earlier incident resurface in your mind. Feeling a cold trickle of some chilling, silly fear, you swallow hard. But soon you shake off the cobwebs and make your way to chemistry. After the last class bell rings, you are rushing through the hallways to the buses when for the third time someone collides with you. This stranger seems aloof, diffident, as they toss four words over their shoulder in an uncaring attempt at an apologetic tone. Four words that make your blood run cold.
“Doctor, she’s not responding.”