anything.
a fictional short story featuring an unreliable narrator, and their recollection of a traumatic situation!
dear diary,
no matter how many times i go, i still cant get familiar with that smell. sterile. the overbearing antiseptic odor that lingers infects the air 20 feet from my daughters second home, and that only intensifies as i enter and wander deeper into the building that should feel safe, but only fills me with anxiety and uncertainty. i wander in a trance. a trance i have been in ever since that day. that beeping. nothing hurts more than the sound of machines attached to my child, echoing in my ear. almost like a heartbeat. an artificial heartbeat, forever contaminating my every second that i lay awake. when will she wake up? it cant be long now.
laura’s health has not improved it seems. they would have called if it had. instead, i received the flatline of their number. not responsive. whats new?
ive been researching new medication for her, and to my surprise, theres a hospital in the states’ with the exact treatment she needs! it comes with a cost, and let me tell you, its pricey, but if it means my daughter can finally come home and be with her mother again, ill do it. if it means i dont have to step foot in that anxiety-inducing establishment again, what other option do i have? i can finally be free of the storm cloud looming over me, laced in guilt and apprehension, as i waste away, waiting for a call. an update. anything.
anything.
i never knew that one word would hold so many meanings and memories. memories i swore i locked away in a indestructible box tied with a neat bow, in hope that i could forget about that day. the accident.
‘is there anything i can do? anything!’ i plead to the paramedic, who was frantically checking for a pulse. the obnoxious, wracking noise of sirens surrounded me, like waves crashing down around me, rapidly growing closer and harder to ignore. each ambulance had strangers piling out, and firing questions at me. questions that shot straight into my gut, wiping me off my feet. questions that they insisted i must answer, leaving me no time to pick myself up or catch my breath.
‘are you the mother of laura wilson? how long has she been like this? how fast was the car going? can you hear me?’
overstimulated. overwhelmed. overflowing with information. nothing could drown this out. not anything.
anything.
i shouldve been there. i shouldnt have let her go out that night. the guilt consumes every part of me. constantly. constantly feeling chained down. the one frayed thread that is holding onto my sanity was the fact i knew this will end. she will wake up and this nightmare can be put to rest. until then, its a waiting game, and my eyes leak acid rain on the pillow where she used to lay her head.
my thoughts were abruptly put on hold when my phone began to ring. the noise closely resembled the same racket that i hear from the hospital. that heartbeat. thump thump. thump thump.
‘hello?’ i manage to mumble out, my voice breaking; i hadnt spoken in days.
‘this is the funeral service calling. is this a good time to call regarding your daughters funeral service? we havent recieved a reply from you since the hospital passed on your contact information. have you got a date in mind?’
then it hit me. reality surged in and flooded all of my memories. she was only alive in my head. only in my head. anything but reality.
anything.