Appreciation
Something strange and different again. Meh.
Sitting by the hospital bed, I watch the helpless victim lie there. I watched them suffer, and I sit there, amplified in my own sorrow, hoping for them to just open their eyes.
It's wonderful to have such a commitment and such a wonderful range of emotions for one person. But it's devastating how all these can make you significantly hurt at the sign of death. Death is something I have never been afraid of. I've always used sayings, like "Whenever Death comes for me, I'll embrace it in open arms." Or, "I'm not afraid of Death." But isn't it so significant how these constant reminders to yourself can be thrown out of the window, at the sign of the very thing that eliminates life?
I take his cold hand in my own. Lifeless and yet I still feel life, I cling onto it, feeling tears form at my eyes. Memories swarm my mind, good, bad, and general. I look at his face, and I see it white, emotionless and yet still to me, full of emotion. I squeeze the hand, as if it's a gentle reminder to wake up, a gentle way to drift him out of this eternal sleep. I feel the tears that had formed at my eyes now begin to stream down my cheeks. I softly whisper to this body...
"Hey..."
"Hey, you..."
"I'm right here..."
"You can wake up now..."
Their head didn't turn. Their face didn't light up and change from that snow-white coldness. They were no longer present in this world. They had gone. "No..." I whispered softly to myself. I had lured myself into a false sense of reality, thinking he was just sleeping. A new range of emotions set inside me, a stream of my consciousness instantly emerging and flowing throughout my veins. I stood up, screaming in anger, smacking the hospital walls with my fists and my head, exclaiming to the ceiling and to this so called "God" to take me instead of him, to give him back to me just so I could say goodbye.
I slowly sink to the ground, curling up in a ball. My emotions rapidly changing, I don't know what to think anymore. I question myself, with such unanswerable questions...
"Why does everyone I love die?"
"Why couldn't I be the one to be taken away?"
"...Is this my fault?"
My anger had quickly formed back to sorrow, with a sense of guilt. Two innocent doctors came into the room, and stared at me, and then the body. "Mr. Maxwell..." They said gently to me. I looked back up at them with glistening eyes, and simply stated. "Just give me more time..." The doctors looked to each other, then nodded slightly, and walked out of the room.
My legs were shaking, but I stood up and came back up to this body. I took his hand in my own again, still staring into his eyes, which were closed. I sat down next to him yet again. It seemed to be an endless cycle of emotions that continuously ran through me, that same Anger, that same Sorrow, that same guilt. I remember what he said before he died, what he said to me.
"...Finally Free..."
What could have caused him to want to kill himself? Could it have been me? Could it have been his mistakes...? He thought he was alone, and yet he had a wider range of friends all around the world, and he had a huge step of his life ahead of him. Everything he could have ever wanted was going to come true, just in time, just in a gentle pace that he had to wait for. But he couldn't wait for that pace. He broke free from that miracle, thinking it was time for him to go.
He had yet to find his love, which he desperately was longing to find one day. He hadn't broken free yet, but he was going to, in this lifetime. But he cut it short... He didn't give himself chance to heal. He blamed himself for things that weren't his fault. He let himself be the victim of crimes that weren't him. He let relationships with certain people ruin everything.
The hospital walls suddenly seem to melt around me. The body disintegrating into dust, and blowing out of the window in almost a flash. From the bed, emerged a bloody hand, reaching up to grab me and pull me onto the bed. "No! Not me! Not yet!" I exclaimed and tried to run away, but the door was locked. On the other end of it, were two doctors, their faces deformed and yet resembling something that looked like my parents. I turn back, and can feel myself being sucked towards this bed. I close my eyes, and embrace what was about to happen, my dea-
"NO!!"
Lone shot up in his bed, gasping and sweating from that terrible nightmare that had taken over him. He was crying heavily, his covers no longer on his bed but on the floor, the curtains preventing any light from coming into the room. Sniffling and shaking, he slowly sat up, holding his head in his paws and wondering what that dream was about.
He had a quick flashback of it. Something dawned on him.
That person in that hospital bed. Whoever he was, he seemed very familiar. He looked a lot like himself, perhaps a family relative...?
But no...It dawned on Lone that the person he dreamt about was himself, a dream where he had killed himself, a thought he had thought about many times over and over. And the person beside the bed...Was himself too. He realised he loved himself...He realised that if he ended his life prematurely, he would be making a big mistake...But by that time, it was too late. The deed had already been done, his fate already sealed.
No longer crying, Lone stood up and went towards the bathroom, shaking still. He doubled over a bit, and vomited into the toilet. He clutched his stomach, and then looked into the mirror. He wiped away any of the sickness that was on his face. He felt a little stronger. He had a somewhat new appreciation for life, that suicidal dream opening his eyes to the opportunities that had he had left, and also the realization of how many people he would hurt if he took himself away from this world.
He looked at his scars. He didn't care about them anymore. They are just simple reminders of the past, a past he beat.
He has a new appreciation for life.
You must appreciate it.
We only have one shot.
One chance.
...And it's never too late to turn back.