My body feels weak. I feel weak.
I've been drifting in and out of sleep in this dingy, pristine room of white, listening to the rhythm of my own heart beat playing a dull melody on the monitor and all I can think about is this feeling of weakness crawling over the entirety of my body, begging and screaming to be itch.
Just for a moment.
Just for a heart beat.
I want to be at peace. Rid of this agonizing rash of a feeling, even if scratching the skin turns it angry with crimson splotches and tears.
I don't care, I just want to scream bloody murder at the tops of my lungs. I want to curl up in a ball and cry and cry and cry until there's nothing left, but puffy eyes and stained cheeks. I want to yank needles out of my arms and kick and scream and punch at the monitor driving me crazzzzzzzy.
I just want to do something, anything really, to prove I still exist in this messed up world, even if it's just lifting a finger.
I want to prove I'm not already dead.
I want to prove I'm not lying here, confined to this bed, as a donor patient.
I want to prove that I'm not about to be sliced opened and diced into a million pieces only to be shoved into the bodies of strangers in this horrific divided state.
But as the monitor beeps on, all I can think about is the evidence stacking up and being showcased in front of a jury.
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Death Code
Science FictionI woke up in a hospital like room in a full fled panic and unable to do a thing about it because everything about me was paralyzed. My heart wouldn't listen and my breaths stubbornly decided to stay calm and steady. I was screaming at the top of my...
