Someone slowly opened the window to let him drink in what he knew to be his very last sunrise. It was time. It was about time.
The someone spoke. ‘Are you ready, James?’
He was. He’d never been more ready.
While they faffed about, as always, he thought about his decision. It was right, not rushed. They’d be disappointed but still.
They’d done their best. It had been hard for them, of course. Always saying – pretending was how he saw it at his lowest points – they wanted to involve him. Almost like he really had any say in what they did or when they did it. Until now.
They’d say, ‘We’re going to insert this drip now, James. It does blah, blah. Are you ready?’ Like they would have stopped if he’d shaken his head. No, they knew what he needed so they did what they did.
And they would have done it even if they’d known the pain every needle caused him. Every touch. He was never ready, that was the point. If he could have screamed he would have screamed them to a stop. But screaming, like sex was now an experience of the memory only.
That was another thing with them. Their optimism. Either they said crap like, ‘When you’re better…’ or ‘When you start walking…’ Or they said nothing, just smiled. Like it was all ok. All so natural. Nothing was going to stop them running his inert megaplegic life. The ultimate medical blank canvas, that was him.
And still they kept on touching him, prodding him and poking him even though each touch radiated agony across his whole being. They’d scanned his brain and seen nothing, no sign of any reaction. Their machines were godlike in their infallibility. He believed that even had he been able to describe what was happening to him, they’d think he was making it up. Fuckwits. Surely there had to be a sign for what he went through? Didn’t they see his pain sensors beaming lasers of hate at them? Were they so useless? Or was it him? Was his pain silenced too, just a memory, real though it felt?
It seemed like forever that he was stuck on his bed surrounded by his oh so caring torturers, planning their next assault and sharing their plans with him. And all the time he had tried to think himself dead.
But you can’t, can you? You can’t think life away. You can’t reject nutrients when they’re dripped into you; you can’t stop breathing when you’re on a ventilator.
Yet from the bottom of the bottom of that silent pit the only way was up and somehow he rose. All it took was one twitch of one finger, involuntary perhaps but suddenly they all talked about it was an ‘if’. If he can move his finger he can control a mouse. If he can control a mouse he can communicate. If this and if that.
He longed to tell them but he just knew they’d invested too much in his survival to let him go. Telling them of the unbearable agony would just delay matters. He had fought his body, until finally his finger did his bidding. They built him an empire of electronics, slowly giving him mobility and a voice.
They wanted his story but they had forfeited their right to know. He kept his pain secret as he learnt new skills. Holding onto pain meant he wouldn’t lose focus.
And today, this day after so many, after trial and error he was going to be allowed to medicate himself. Another machine, another step for them, a giant leap for him. At last he controlled his destiny.
Inside he smiled. On the screen he smiled.
The someone spoke again. ‘Glad to see you’re jolly today, James.’
Susan Scott.
‘I’m going to re-assess your motor function. It’s improving a lot. Who knows….’
A face appeared and smiled at him. ‘What would you like to do today?’
James tapped the pad. ‘Any chance of sex?’
Ms Scott smiled and waged a finger. ‘Not with me,’ her face became conspiratorial, ‘but these days, I don’t see why not. There’s a way for most things and it’s just an auto response after all.’
If James could have frowned he would have. That was news. Maybe he did need a rethink after all.
Susan held a question in her gaze. ‘So, any other questions?’
He tapped again. ‘I need to explain about the pain so we can talk about pain management.’
TanGental 
I read this one twice. Very engaging and puzzling. I loved the rethink at the end.
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Thanks Elizabeth; the ending was something I agonized over, worried that it might seem flippant but I rather hope it shows a glimmer of some essential human spirit; thank you for understandong
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That is so scary Geoff. It my biggest fear being in a vegitive state unable to make contact!. 💜💜
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it’s up there with being in a coma and buried…
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Arrrrrrrgh Edgar Allen Poe!
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The last last wish perhaps………..
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I suppose if ever I found myself like that, I’d hope they’d play the cricket all the time
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Very dark and almost sinister, Geoff, and then, a slight change of tone at the end.
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it’s a harsh and cruel situation, isn’t it? Maybe that was flippant of me but thank you for seeing it as intended.
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Loved the ending, Geoff. There is a spark after all. Autoresponses are like that.
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yes, I rather hope I’d think the same!
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🙂
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Scary, chilling…
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one those situations we hope never to find ourselves in
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Oh my… What a way to ‘live’…
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it’s one of those horrors, isn’t it?
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Truly…
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It is horrible to lose control and be reliant on others but I have seen humor in even the most dire of situations. As they say, there’s a thin line. Comedy is often anger driven.
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Yes that’s true. It can be bitter, but sometimes bittersweet too
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I think this is everyone’s horror. Already have the plan in place so I’m not that person. Scary.
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Yes me too. Turn off that switch please…
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Such a poignant short story that brought back memories of what it must have been like for my Mother before she passed on. Well written, Geoff, and I liked the little bit of humour that you threw in.
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Thanks Hugh. I’m glad it worked rather than undermined the piece
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This story certainly has your unique mark on it Geoff. I never know where we’re about to go — and I love that. Hugs on the wing.
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Me neither…
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Perfect Geoff – this was perfect in both design and delivery. =a great read.
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Oh ta very muchly, as my old granny never once said,
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This made me shiver. Touching!
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