(Monologue of somebody experiencing tragedy.)
Just breathe. In and out, control the pace. One, two, three. This can’t be helped. My mind is travelling to dark places and my leg refuses to cease its relentless twitching.
Help me. No, not me. Them – my parents. They have to be okay, I won’t let that car crash be the thing to end them. It should be me dying on the operating table right now.
Aren’t the nurses meant to be here, talking to me, giving me updates on the progress? I can handle it. I’ve been through enough, a horror story about blood not clotting or cardiac arrest isn’t enough to make me lose it. It’s scarier to not know what’s going on, having a million and one scenarios running through your head.
Keep breathing, you can’t cry. Not now, think positive. And goddammit, legs – stop moving! It’s okay – hit the armrest, throw your head back or scream in frustration, but don’t cry, for if I cry right now, I fear that I won’t stop.
There was so much blood, too much. What if they’re bleeding dry right now, losing the entirety of their blood volume? And glass. Large, jagged chunks of glass protruding from my mother’s body. She should’ve worn her seatbelt. I was safe in the back seat. I was yelling at Dad… he turned to swat at me. That truck came out of nowhere. His head hit the seat, then there was a crunch. I think it was his shoulder. Glass scattered everywhere. I think I blacked out. It’s all my fault, I caused this and I should be dead, not my parents.
Oh God, I think that’s mum’s surgeon. Please be bringing good news.
No… she died on the table, too much swelling in the brain. That can’t be right. NO! It’s my mum, she can’t be dead!
Get rid of those tears, it’s your fault! STOP SHAKING! Dad’s in a coma. Something happened but now I don’t know what, I should’ve listened to the doctor.
I should’ve just shut up. I can’t believe that not going to a stupid concert was so important, and it cost me everything.
What’s happening? I can’t feel the floor beneath me, the room is shadowing over, and I can’t breathe… I’m in shock, aren’t I? More incoherent sounds from the man in scrubs, something about my Nan coming. Can’t he see that I can’t hear him? That my mind has become mush? Nobody understands!
Stop crying! You don’t deserve to feel. You should be dead…