The Broken Man

A little broken man lies in the hospital bed. He's bandaged from neck to waist, immobile, with new pins in his neck and back. He'll never jog again, never sit down to his work again without pain. For five days he has been lying with his large eyes fixed on the ceiling, but he's not seeing it. He's in a coma.

The only person who ever visits him is the wealthy businessman-programmer Nathan Ingram, who is the one who paid for the private room, the specialist in spinal injuries, the private nurse.

"He must be a good friend," the nurse had said at the beginning, and Ingram gave her a surprised look.

"No, actually. I've hardly ever even spoken to him. He's my employee. This was all my fault. He got caught up in something that should never have been his project. He was totally innocent—he didn't even know what he was working on. But they targeted him anyway, instead of me. It should be me."

She thinks now that it was a relief for him to finally say these things to someone. He has visited his little programmer called Harold Wren every day, always expecting him to be awake when he sees the open eyes. She wonders if he is dreaming behind those big grey eyes.