Ripped by shards

By | 28/02/2020

… dddrowzzz… …. ddrowzzz… I’m surrounded by clouds… I’m heavy… Must shrug the ddrowzz away…  …can’t… Am I alive, asleep, dead? …ddrowzzz…

If this is sleep, I’m in the most tedious dream imaginable: just a long grey corridor, leading only to distant double doors. Why put up with this? I’ll find a better dream, I’ll make a better one. How? The doors, the doors! Go through them!

A Hieronymus Bosch nightmare

Despite my heaviness, I sprint. I hit the doors like a train, go through the reinforced glass as if it’s tissue paper. The jagged shards jutting from the doorframe cut me like razors and I feel a warm flood of blood… but no pain.

Ten, twenty hands pick me up and deposit me on a surface much softer than the broken-glass-covered floor. Shadowy but strong figures restrain me as a needle punctures my skin, journeying in and out of my flesh, drawing thread behind it, discomfortingly rejoining my ripped flesh. As the thread passes through me, I feel it inside me, a thin, slithering, insidious viper. I try to struggle but am held down. Escape is impossible; my only remaining impulse is to….

SCREAM!

Still they hold me down. Another needle enters me, and I dwindle into chemical-induced sleep, as welcome as an oasis.

Guardian angel

I wake. Clouds seem to be obscuring my vision, but I notice a pretty young woman sitting by the bed. Is this heaven? Is she one of the heavenly throng?

“Are you my guardian angel?”

“No, just a nurse.”

…dddrowzzz…

“Is this heaven?”

“Not quite. You’re in hospital.”

…dddrowzzz…

I lapse into stupor. Whenever I wake up, she’s there. Whatever she says about being a nurse, in my heart I know she’s my own angel.

Suicide watch

I learn she’s there because my carers believe my trip through the reinforced glass was an attempt at self-destruction.

…dddrowzzz… …grey room… …ddrowzz… …guardian angel? …ddrowzz… …mists… …long, endlessly long corridor…

..grey room.. .drowz.

Still a bit groggy, I pace up and down the long, eternally grey corridor, as grey as life… But these mists – am I imagining this, or are they gradually lifting?

Half-nelson

One afternoon the atmosphere of the ward is getting to me. The sash windows in here barely open. It’s stuffy and smoky. Outside the weather looks bright and cheery. I decide to go out for a walk. I go through the double doors.

“Marc! You’re not allowed out yet! Stop!”

I trot down the stairs. Hearing the doors bang open and shut behind me I hear also the sound of a pair of feet taking several stairs at a time. It’s my friend Jim. “OK Marc, that’ll do. Come back with me.”

“I’m not coming back.”

“You have to Marc.”

“I don’t have to do anything I don’t want to. I don’t want to stay here and I’m not going to.” I continue down the stairs.

“Marc! If you don’t come back now…”

I don’t. Jim takes the remaining stairs two at a time and grabs me. Before I have time to think he’s got me in a half nelson, causing me to sink to the floor. He keeps the hold on.

“If you don’t come with me now,” he says in a slow whisper, “I’ll… break… your… f**king… neck. Are you coming?”

I have no choice. He’s much stronger than me. He might not break my neck, on the other hand he might. I give in and go back to the ward nursing my neck and arm.