Explode a new Idea

April 28, 2012
By Ripley GOLD, Las Vegas, Nevada
Ripley GOLD, Las Vegas, Nevada
19 articles 4 photos 6 comments

Favorite Quote:
"I love people who make me laugh. I honestly think it's the thing I like most, to laugh. It cures a multitude of ills. It's probably the most important thing in a person."
— Audrey Hepburn <------ I couldn't have said it better myself.

I glare at the door in frustration. All I day I try, in vain, to open it. The door, my only hope of escape, shines defiantly against the pitch black of the mysterious space surrounding me. Where am I? The question runs through my head throughout the days I am trapped. Three days pass without change; I slump in the dark and wallow in it. Where does the time go? I start to hum, softly at first, but then increasing in pitch until the sound is a shrill annoying buzz. My temper flares as quickly as the sound rises. Finally, when screams begin building in my throat, a sound catches my attention. Wait- can it be? Yes! The familiar sound of a door clicking open greets my ears. I leap up from the ground and dash to the door. Reaching out, I rest my hand on the cool metal door knob.

"Why am I hesitating?" I wonder aloud. I glance once more at the emptiness behind me and then open the door completely.

A brilliant flash of light blinds me when I step through. Once my eyes adjust, I notice how white the corridor stretching out in front of me seems. I search the stark wall for any bit of information about where I am.

Suddenly, a voice comes out from overhead. Beep!

"Paging Dr. Ellis! Paging Dr. Ellis! The patient in room four is seizing!"

Oh, so this is a hospital. I suppose that makes sense; the walls hold an air of sterility about them. Now that I know where I am, I need to know where to go next. I trace my hand along the nearest wall as I hurry down the hall. I stop when I reach a four way. I try to decide where to go when, suddenly, my body lurches forward. Left turn, left turn, and then a right turn.

Why am I going this direction? I am jerked out of my thoughts when I come to a sudden stop in front a doorway to a patient's room. A plaque on the wall next to the door says "Room #4- ICU"; this is the seizing patient's room.

I tentatively step inside and immediately notice a girl lying on the hospital bed. Shakes render her body useless as she lie in seemingly deep sleep. Unable to see her clearly, I take small steps forward. I gasp when her face comes into view, shocked at what I see. The girl, me, I mean my body lies on the bed. Doctors surround my body, tubes shoved down my throat, blood pumping through most of them, and here I stand in shock.

"What's going on!?" I cry out. No one answers me; no one can hear me.

"What happened!?" I yell, louder. Once my tirade subsides, I notice the doctors mumbling among themselves.

"It's her choice whether she wakes up or not. Her head trauma is very serious, and so is her status epilepticus. Considering what she has been through, I doubt I'd want to wake up either. However, she will make a decision, even in subconscious."

Status epilepticus? I remember that term from somewhere. I believe it means reoccurring seizures, hence the term epilepsy. But another phrase has my mind pinned to it. What did he mean it's my choice? This is just a dream right? A little voice inside my head tells me this is not a dream.

I stare at myself lying helplessly on the pristine ivory sheets.

"Wake up. Please wake up!" I will; nothing happens. What happened to me to make me so fragile and frail? Even with the benefits of intravenous fluids, my skin is sallow and sunken in. Then the me that is standing and thinking begins to hyperventilate.

I run like my worst nightmare is chasing me. I run, but for how long is a mystery. Long winding hallways blur in my peripheral vision; the streaks and shadows of color terrify me. Finally, when my lungs feel as if they will burst, I stumble over my own feet.

I sprawl out in the middle of the ICU not caring who sees me lying there helpless; invisibility helps too.

The doctor said, "It's your choice." My choice, huh? A light-bulb pops on over my head. I understand what he meant now; I can wake up at any moment. The door, the hospital, they are all figments of my unconscious mind. I and myself alone will decide if I wake up or not.

Honestly, why should I wake up? Life is painful, and intimidating. I have to be here for a reason. Someone or something put me here. Then again, life is also exhilarating. There are so many things to do, and so many things I could miss out on. My identity may be blocked off from my brain right now, but eventually things will make sense to me.

There must be people out there who pine for me. They probably sit and beg for me to wake up. They probably say they will do anything if I would just wake up. Should I wake up? Do I want to wake up? That's something only I can decide. However, what I want is unclear at present.

What do I have to look forward to? Love is definitely something. I vaguely remember the voice of love. The sound of love, for me, equates to a whisper in heated darkness telling me, "I love you more than words can describe." I know that I am loved; not just by that one voice, but by that and dozens of others. These simple remembrances make me long for more.

I cannot let all of those people go. I have to wake up. I want to wake up! How do I wake up? I try to speak the words aloud, but they die inside my throat. You know that old song, "Breaking up is hard to do?" Yeah, well replace breaking with waking. I try everything I can to wake up: slamming my body into the brick walls, pinching myself, trying to sleep. Every effort is a wasted one.

"Maybe you can't wake up because you don't really want to yet," says a voice in the back of my head. Those words hold no truth though. Do they? I desperately want to wake up. Something tells me this decision must be irrevocable though.

I limp back to room 4, where my body lies, deep in thought. I rest my palm against my body's cheek. Her skin- my skin- feels clammy. The frigidness forces me to try to pull the covers up over her/me a bit, but my hands pass through her. Sigh. Existing like this forever would suck!

My decision makes up its own mind. In my head I start a mantra of, "I do not want this!"
I need home and I need to figure out what type of person I end up as. I just want to find myself.

The author's comments:
Another thing I had to write for my 9th grade honors English class. I wrote it because I was trying to find out more about myself, but I was letting everyone else make the decisions. Please rate <3 It would mean a lot to me.

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