Perfected :: Her Body :: Greek Necessity :: Deep Throats :: Scrolls

Morphine I am no longer replaying the doctor's words in my mind. My hands have stopped shaking, I've gotten more than a snatched few hours of sleep. Sunday evening was hell. Soundless, choking sobs and my hands pressed against my mouth so hard that my lips were drained of all colour. The very last train of the night caught by a fraction of a second. I slung my backpack on it, without toothbrush or more than one pair of clean underwear, complete with sweaters I haven't worn in six months but were the closest thing to hand. I got into Lime Street Station at midnight, waited around in a freezing layby haunted by skinny men in army uniform and walked through all too familiar hospital corridors. The weird combination of pumping adreneline and bad coffee on an empty stomach. It wasn't until then, or maybe the next morning, that I realised how serious things were. How little time we might have left. Away in freezing Scotland, amputated from the rest of my family, I miss out on so much. It was a fluke that I caught that train, that I even thought to ask if there was one so late on a Sunday night. If I hadn't if I'd caught the 7am train next morning, I could have been too late. My mother went into hospital at around 11-ish, as we stuttered out goddbyes that didn't want to be goodbyes, that might not have to be. After the doctor spoke with us, after endless hours where I alternately prayed for a few more minutes and for the whole thing to be over, a plaster whipped off quickly, I that I could wait for the pain to subside. Lookingat her and trying not imagine a blue lips, white skin and rogor mortis. Then hours of waiting. Going for a cup if tea, wandering around aimlessly and wishing I could get lost if only to give me something to do, wishing I didn't know this hospital as well as I know my own apartment. Almsot out of reflex, my fingers moving over the jagged edges and smooth planes of the quartz crystal I grabbed for comfort as I packed, half-remembered words fumbling across my tongue. It isn't over yet. She came through, stonger than we'd expected, alert despite quantities of morphine that could probably floor an small elephant. It's not over yet, but at least the numbing, sickening fear has passed. Things might turn out for the best. Because really and truly this time, the universe fucking owes us. ______________________________ we have come so far :: it is over

Accomplishment :: The Moon :: Toga :: Night Flower