Board Thread:Writer's Workshop/@comment-27838637-20161106130313

Here is my attempt at returning to the writing game after a bit of a hiatus. Forgive me if this is rushed (it is) or too depressing. I dreamt about it last night and I just had to turn it into a story. Good news is that it is short - so it shouldn't be too hard to review!

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Beep. Beep. Beep.



You lie on the gurney, weak and stale like everything else in the hospital. The horrid stench of medicine and sickly people make their way through your nostrils, and for a moment you become a little paranoid about inhaling this air through your mouth. But you do anyway.



Your dry mouth froths up as you run your tongue against a pair of dry cracked lips. Even in doing this simple task you are unsure of your success because your body is so numb and weak that it is almost impossible to feel anything on the surface of your body. You can't even tell what the temperature is. The pain though; that is coming from the inside of your body. You can feel that, more than anything you have ever felt before. You'd scream if you could, but when you open your mouth you can't force out anything but a feint breath. You try to speak - but in this state all efforts to do so are futile.



You are alive, barely, and the severe pain inside makes you wish that the operation wasn't a success. You don't even know how long you've been out for. Where is your family and friends? They should have been here to greet you when you woke up. A better question to ask might be: where are your doctors? Your vision is still cloudy and you can't make out much. You can see clearly until about a meter from your gurney, and everything else is just white, faded shadows and figures.



Beep. Beep. Beep.



You can hear that sound from a room down the hall. Somebody is dead. You know the sound of a dying heartbeat monitor; it was one of the last things you remember hearing right before the doctors bought you back in to this world. Speaking of doctors, you hear them rush down the hallway, obviously to the room where that horrid beeping is coming from.



Beep. Beep. Beep.



You hear it again, but this time it's not from the same room. It is closer. Probably the room next to yours, but you don't know for sure.



<p style="margin:0in;font-family:Calibri;font-size:11.0pt">Suddenly you get a strange feeling, wondering if that 'beeping' will be coming from you next. You try to shrug it off as paranoia, but you still can't shake that feeling of dread. It's almost as if you know it's coming.

<p style="margin:0in;font-family:Calibri;font-size:11.0pt">

<p style="margin:0in;font-family:Calibri;font-size:11.0pt">Suddenly, your fears are lulled when a doctor makes his way into your room. But  despite this, that feeling builds up inside you once more. Why isn't the doctor speaking? Shouldn't the doctors be attending to the dying patients in the other room?

<p style="margin:0in;font-family:Calibri;font-size:11.0pt">

<p style="margin:0in;font-family:Calibri;font-size:11.0pt">Why is the doctor holding a needle?

<p style="margin:0in;font-family:Calibri;font-size:11.0pt">

<p style="margin:0in;font-family:Calibri;font-size:11.0pt">You try to move, but you are just too weak. You see the doctor grab the IV and insert his needle into it. With one swift movement, he pumps the entire content of the needle into the tube.

<p style="margin:0in;font-family:Calibri;font-size:11.0pt">

<p style="margin:0in;font-family:Calibri;font-size:11.0pt">It's air.

<p style="margin:0in;font-family:Calibri;font-size:11.0pt">

<p style="margin:0in;font-family:Calibri;font-size:11.0pt">But instead of the bubbles rising to the top of the top, they pummel down, closer and closer to your skin as you try so hard to pull yourself free.

<p style="margin:0in;font-family:Calibri;font-size:11.0pt">

<p style="margin:0in;font-family:Calibri;font-size:11.0pt">But you can't.

<p style="margin:0in;font-family:Calibri;font-size:11.0pt">

<p style="margin:0in;font-family:Calibri;font-size:11.0pt">You could spend these last moments wondering why this man killed you. Wonder what his motive was; what his ultimate goal was.

<p style="margin:0in;font-family:Calibri;font-size:11.0pt">

<p style="margin:0in;font-family:Calibri;font-size:11.0pt">But that doesn't matter.

<p style="margin:0in;font-family:Calibri;font-size:11.0pt">

<p style="margin:0in;font-family:Calibri;font-size:11.0pt">The only questions you ask yourself are the ones that matter. Were you happy with your life? What did you miss out on? Did you tell your family and friends what you felt of them? Is there life after death?

<p style="margin:0in;font-family:Calibri;font-size:11.0pt">

<p style="margin:0in;font-family:Calibri;font-size:11.0pt">But you don't have a lot of time to think before your senses fade away one last time. You feel the bubbles clench inside your heart and absolutely everything you were and ever will be fades into nothing.

<p style="margin:0in;font-family:Calibri;font-size:11.0pt">

<p style="margin:0in;font-family:Calibri;font-size:11.0pt">Beep. Beep. Beep. <ac_metadata title="Bubbles (unreviewed)"> </ac_metadata>