Harry's body was still trembling. He closed his eyes, wishing and longing to wake up from this dreadful nightmare, but the pain didn't vanish. The straps holding him onto the bed, the needles stuck into his veins and the nostalgic smell of disinfectant in the air told him he was still in hospital.
He slowly turned his head to the right while every inch of his body ached. His eyes still closed he knew he was now facing his right arm – or where it used to be. He could feel the pain in his arm and his fist clenching. Carefully he spun his arm in the one, then in the other direction. If it wasn't for the pain, everything would seem to be alright.
Once he was stabilized the nurse had told him. He had luck he was still alive, hardly escaping death's fangs. It would take him a long time to recover. She said he was lucky only losing his right arm, but still he couldn't bring himself to value what was left of his pitiful little live.
He didn't know if he was ready to face reality yet, but in fact he couldn't close his eyes to the truth forever, hiding in a carefree fantasy world that didn't exist no longer.
His dream had been torn apart now and he had to accept it.
As he slowly opened his eyes, his eyelashes still blurring his vision, he could feel his guts twisting and his emotions flowing over.
Tears ran down his face quietly and soaked his felted hair like lost dreams as he stared at the empty bed sheet in front of him. His arm was gone and with it all his life purpose, his future and dreams. A human bereft of his dreams is like an angel with cut wings.