other works

WILDCARD WINNING ENTRY

WHY DON’T YOU DIE?

As the crash cart is wheeled into your room, summoned by a one-note scream from the heart monitor, I linger like a crane hovering over its nest.

Fascinating. How many tubes can be stuck into human flesh? They make you look like a dystopian robot—Terminator springs to mind. But then again, you’ll never be remembered for making a mark on the world.

Look at you, pitiful bastard. Barely kept alive by machines, your hospital gown torn open … God, you’d be horrified if you could feel those strangers’ hands prodding and touching you.

Not as horrified as the family down the hallway, of course. You weren’t the one who was told their daughter didn’t make it. The unbearable truth can’t be washed away by the mother’s tears now that she is doomed to cope with the consequences of your mistake forever. Terminator may be a better reference than I thought.

And you? You let yourself be pampered by people whose time should be spent on those who deserve it. By the firefighters who had to cut through metal to wrench you out of something that didn’t even resemble a car anymore. Or the paramedics rushing to your rescue while others may have needed them. Not to mention the medical team in this room, whom you so willingly let keep you alive. I hope those shots of vodka were worth all of this.

“Clear!” the guy with the defibrillator pads yells.

Everyone stands back while 300 joules make you breakdance on the mattress. All eyes are fixed on the monitor, but the line refuses to join your jiggle. You’re rejected even by your own heartbeat, you moron.

Come to think of it, why am I still here? Surely, I have better places to go. Scanning the room for a bright light, I wonder what it will be like. I wouldn’t mind a stroll in the Garden of Eden after all this. Will Dad be there? Granny? Or … God? I’ve never been religious, but what if Heaven exists? And if there’s Heaven, would there be … Oh, God.

“Clear!”

Another spasm makes you flop like a fish on the dock, but this time, you reach for the controls. A hesitant jump in the line on the display evokes a collective sigh from the medical staff, and the flat whine from the heart monitor is replaced by an upbeat rhythm, as if this were good news.

There’s still no light for me to escape to. Instead, I’m being sucked down by your first ragged intake of air—back to the pathetic human shell I was forced to inhabit for twenty-six years. The exhale that follows blows out a flame of hope that could have burned through our connection forever. I’m met with the realization that you’re pulling me into an arduous, long-lasting guilt trip. Hell on Earth, in other words.

But I let myself be claimed by surrender. Hell on Earth beats Hell in Eternity.