It's scary. Seeing someone you've know your whole life, with medical equipment all around them, head bandaged up. I've never seen her like this. I wonder what she's dreaming about? Do you even dream in a coma? "Can she hear me, mom?" Mom nods, but is still silent. Has been all night. I walk up to her bed. Slow. I kneel, grip her hand, and whisper to her, "Please wake up. I miss you." At that, she lays there. Still motionless. Seeing the one person who knows exactly how you feel. Being the only two cousins who really understand each other, we've always counted on each other. I don't know what I'll do without her.
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A Close Call
Random"Mom..." I said. I couldn't finish the sentince. The car hurled toward the side of the bridge. Mom was the last thing I'd ever hear. Mom was the last thing I'd ever see. "Mom." Was the last thing I'd ever say.
