It has been three years.
It came the morning. I woke up to find a rose lingering next to my pillow. I touch it, stroke its petals. The thorns have been carefully removed, so none pricks me. The window is open , I can sense the breeze wrapping around me. There are voices from the nearby corridors. I lay there in total silence. Images start to form inside my mind. The darkness becomes a blue sky. Trees dance to the wind outside my window. The sun is bright and the birds sing. I could watch them for hours as the twirl all around the place, sitting on branches and having their little singing competition.
I dream I was one of them.
I dream I had wings that I could spread and fly, following the wind.
Then I remember how the grass would swing softly, carried away by the breeze. My mind races back to my grandfather's cottage. I can see my grandmother cooking in the kitchen, I can smell the ancient smell of flowers blossoming. It's spring; nature screams. I can see my grandfather working in the garden, soil stains covering his blue shirt. I open the wooden door to find myself in the middle of the garden. And then I see it; my swing. Just a common wooden swing, hanging from the branches of an old tree. It would look so ordinary in a stranger's eyes. But for me it is more of a vehicle than a swing.
A vehicle that can fly me back in time, when I was young, when I could run and jump so high I was bound to touch the sky.
A vehicle that carries you to the most distant corners of your mind, where Imagination has built its own kingdom.
A vehicle that would take me to another dimension.
I snap back into reality when somebody comes inside my room. I turn my head around. The cottage fades into blackness. I know I am back inside the real world, because now I can see nothing. I feel cold steel on my chest. The doctor is trying to hear my heartbeat. My body shivers. The sheets are too thin to protect me from the chilly breeze. I know it is my doctor, because his voice is cold and steely, and there is no warmth in it. He acts as if I am another object. I know I am a simple patient to him, but I really wish I was more than that. I really wish I was important to somebody. I lift my left hand, surprised I can still do that, and touch something that feels like cloth. It was probably his apron because he is now talking to me. I can't hear him very well. He asks if I need something; I sense some sadness in his voice. I open my mouth. My neck is dry, my lips sore.
"Have I got any time left?", I try to speak. It sounds more like a swansong. The doctor does not reply. However, I have a horrible feeling he shook his head. I feel him abandoning the room.
I close my eyes. It makes no difference anymore, since it is all the same, even when they are open. I stroke the petals of the rose again.
Then I am suddenly terrified, because my nasty rival, Pain, has just woke up. I can feel him crawling up the bed, searching for my body. I can sense the evil grin on his face, as he enters me.
Pain is suddenly everywhere, like he always is. The good thing is I know the nurse will soon be there to medicate me. That scares Pain away for a while. The problem is, he always comes back.
I've been in hospital for three years now. The doctors still haven't figured out what it is that cost me both my body and eyes. I spent most of my day sleeping, because there is nothing else I can do. Sometimes I am happy, because I can dream. Some others I'm depressed because I cannot.
The nurse just came in I can tell. She smells of chocolate. She must be fat, because her feet make much more noise than the doctor's. She claps a hand on my shoulder, asking how I am doing. I try to answer, but find myself incapable of such and settle with a nod. She smiles, I can feel it. While she medicates me, the only sound is the one of silence.
She says she's done for today and smiles again. I can hear her leaving the room.
It came the afternoon. I know, because the nurse returned to switch the radio on. She would once turn the TV on for me, but it is totally useless now. I always preferred music anyway. There is some buzzing. Then, music comes in. It is a song I've never heard of before. The nurse leaves the room. I am left alone with the music. I close my eyes again, in an attempt to listen carefully, as to understand the lyrics.
All our times have come,
here but now they're gone
Sounds depressing. Maybe I should call the nurse to change the station.
Seasons don't fear the Reaper,
nor do the wind or the sun and the rain
I wish I were a season then, I think and smile. The song goes on but I can hardly listen any more. My mind wanders. What will it be like, when my time has run out?