There is something in me that wants to return 
To the bleached white walls and the chemical-room
To the soft silent plain of the starched stiff sheets
And the endless night where I wake and sleep.

The waiting breeds new agony
But the sleeping-room brings me release
I warmly breathe in the numbed-up night
Where the painless hours finally find



silly story

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.”