Agony. Excruciating, burning torture. Alive and moving, running down my throat like lava, consuming my insides, pooling in my chest cavity.
Voices, indeterminable, shouting, whispering. Screams. Blessed darkness, peace.
Light and pain. Shifting focus. Greens, brown. A lawn and trees.
Reflected in the window, my eyes stare out from an impassive face.
Movement, dresses, ethereal, white. A nightmare?
“How long’s he been here?”
“A few days. He had a bad motorbike accident. There’s very little brain function.”
My screams drown out the rest of their conversation.
“He looks so peaceful.” The nurse pulls the blanket across my legs and walks away.