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Limbo
It’s cold. I can’t feel anything.
My eyes open slowly. My sight is blurry.
As I rub them, to make my vision more clear,
I notice that there is something dripping
down the sides of my face. It isn’t tears. I’m not crying.
It feels sticky. Almost like…
I can’t make out the color on my fingers, but it is dark.
There is blood leaking from my eyes and ears.
The world appears to me. I’m in a forest.
I try to stand but I feel weak. It is strange.
There is a faded light above me.
The autumn leaves are falling everywhere.
As they touch down to the earth,
they turn into ash and snow.
I do not understand. It’s as if the ground is dead.
I must be dreaming.
I call out. “HELLO!” There is no answer.
“IS THERE ANYONE HERE?!” Still there is nothing.
I walk forth through the soot, through the fog.
I start to see things that are most terrifying.
I try to close my eyes but the blood won’t stop dripping.
There are dead animals covered in blood, pinned to the trees.
My body is begins to freeze.
With each step, it becomes harder to move.
There is a sudden pain in my chest.
At last I can feel, but it’s not what I hoped for.
It feels like I’ve been hit in the chest with a crowbar.
The pain becomes stronger and sharper. I can’t breathe.
I fall to my knees. Blood starts to pour from my mouth.
I cannot speak. My hands sink into the frozen ground.
Out of nowhere, there is a giant crack in the air, and then
an enormously loud burst of noise. I cover my ears in pain.
It’s like a train whistle or a tornado siren.
It gets louder and louder, closer and closer to my ears.
My eyes begin to burn. It feels white and hot.
I scream out in anguish. I am blind.
The lights go out. There is nothing. Once more, I feel nothing.
The surgeon walked towards the waiting room, not looking forward to the news he was about to deliver. It’s never good to tell someone that their child is dead.
In the blue chairs, sat an elderly couple who wore sad, doubtful expressions. They are praying. They look up at the surgeon, their hope hanging by a thin thread.
“Well?” the old man asked.
“I’m sorry. We did everything we could.” The surgeon sighed.
“There were too many internal injuries. She was nearly dead when we opened her up.
If you go to the green nurses’ station, they will give you a number for our grief counselor. I am terribly sorry for your loss.” He started to walk away.
“Thank You Sir. I imagine you fought.” said the man.
The old woman sobbed. They left.
My eyes open slowly. My sight is blurry.
As I rub them, to make my vision more clear,
I notice that there is something dripping
down the sides of my face. It isn’t tears. I’m not crying.
It feels sticky. Almost like…
I can’t make out the color on my fingers, but it is dark.
There is blood leaking from my eyes and ears.
The world appears to me. I’m in a forest.
I try to stand but I feel weak. It is strange.
There is a faded light above me.
The autumn leaves are falling everywhere.
As they touch down to the earth,
they turn into ash and snow.
I do not understand. It’s as if the ground is dead.
I must be dreaming.
I call out. “HELLO!” There is no answer.
“IS THERE ANYONE HERE?!” Still there is nothing.
I walk forth through the soot, through the fog.
I start to see things that are most terrifying.
I try to close my eyes but the blood won’t stop dripping.
There are dead animals covered in blood, pinned to the trees.
My body is begins to freeze.
With each step, it becomes harder to move.
There is a sudden pain in my chest.
At last I can feel, but it’s not what I hoped for.
It feels like I’ve been hit in the chest with a crowbar.
The pain becomes stronger and sharper. I can’t breathe.
I fall to my knees. Blood starts to pour from my mouth.
I cannot speak. My hands sink into the frozen ground.
Out of nowhere, there is a giant crack in the air, and then
an enormously loud burst of noise. I cover my ears in pain.
It’s like a train whistle or a tornado siren.
It gets louder and louder, closer and closer to my ears.
My eyes begin to burn. It feels white and hot.
I scream out in anguish. I am blind.
The lights go out. There is nothing. Once more, I feel nothing.
The surgeon walked towards the waiting room, not looking forward to the news he was about to deliver. It’s never good to tell someone that their child is dead.
In the blue chairs, sat an elderly couple who wore sad, doubtful expressions. They are praying. They look up at the surgeon, their hope hanging by a thin thread.
“Well?” the old man asked.
“I’m sorry. We did everything we could.” The surgeon sighed.
“There were too many internal injuries. She was nearly dead when we opened her up.
If you go to the green nurses’ station, they will give you a number for our grief counselor. I am terribly sorry for your loss.” He started to walk away.
“Thank You Sir. I imagine you fought.” said the man.
The old woman sobbed. They left.
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