Fatal Strings

Prolonged

Tuesday, March 7 at 8:30pm o'clock

The screeching whir of an ambulance’s siren filled the sterile, cold air of the hospital, its urgency weaving through the hallways, cutting through the low murmur of doctors and nurses as they rushed in and out of rooms. The fluorescent lights flickered above, their harsh white glow a stark contrast to the chaos unfolding below.

In the emergency room, the sharp sound of hurried footsteps echoed, amplifying the growing sense of dread. Nurses, their faces grim, moved like clockwork, navigating around the equipment, already preparing for the worst. A team of doctors huddled around a gurney, each focused on the young teenage boy who lay there, unconscious and pale, his body battered from the accident.

A heavy metal pipe, part of a construction site’s disarray, had fallen from a height and pierced his body. The gurney was a blur of frantic movement, its wheels squeaking, being rushed down the hall, the chaos reflected in the sharp breaths that escaped the nurses as they worked tirelessly to stabilize him.

But none of this seemed real to Diane.

Beside the bed, trembling in a corner of the room, stood Diane—her hands shaking violently, her eyes wide with a mix of disbelief and guilt. The girl barely seemed to be breathing, her mind lost in a spiral of overwhelming horror. Her long hair, messy and damp from sweat, clung to her face as she whispered over and over again, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry…” like some sort of broken chant.

Tears welled in her eyes, but she couldn’t stop them from falling. She couldn’t stop anything. She’d seen it all unfold so many times before, but this—this time felt different, worse. Her chest tightened as she tried to force the words out, but they felt hollow, empty. “I didn’t mean it,” she gasped through her sobs, clutching her chest as though it might help her breathe through the pressure. But no matter how hard she tried, the weight of it—of him—was too much to bear.

This was the pattern. Every time. She couldn’t escape it. She had tried, so many times. She’d built walls, isolated herself, become cold to everyone around her. But no matter how far she pushed people away, how many times she vowed never to let anyone in again, there they were—always drawn to her, like moths to a flame.

And each time, someone paid the price.

Her eyes darted back to the boy on the gurney, the boy who looked so fragile now. He was only Seventeen.

Seventeen. He had been full of life just hours before—his laughter echoing through the hallways of the high school, his hands brimming with potential, his future ahead of him. And now? He was fighting for breath, his body torn apart by fate, by that damn pipe. A pipe that had fallen in a careless moment, but Diane knew better. She knew it wasn’t just chance. She had seen it before. And she had known this day would come.

The thought struck her heart like a hammer: This is your fault.

She crumpled to her knees, her vision swimming as tears blurred her sight. She covered her mouth, stifling her cries, but the words kept slipping through anyway. “I’m sorry… I’m sorry… Please be okay…”

But the whispers weren’t enough. They never were.

In the corner of the room, a nurse looked back at Diane with pity, but there was something else there—something familiar. Something that reminded Diane of the countless others who had stood in this very spot. The ones who had seen the aftermath of her curse. The ones who had witnessed how her love—her presence—had brought nothing but pain.

It didn’t matter how much she tried to avoid it. It didn’t matter how much she wanted to shut herself off from the world.

This had always been the way.

Love was a curse. And the sooner she accepted that, the better.