r_chama's profile

1. The steady beeping of the heart monitor is the first thing he hears when he wakes and the only thing existing for far too long. His eyelids are too heavy to open and he cannot feel a thing. The distinct smell of latex gloves and hospital make its way past the plastic tube in his nostrils, turning his stomach inside out. He never has liked hospitals, not since he was young and spending more time in a sick bed than his own. He has no idea why he’s here now, too drugged to even lift a finge...

1. The steady beeping of the heart monitor is the first thing he hears when he wakes and the only thing existing for far too long. His eyelids are too heavy to open and he cannot feel a thing. The distinct smell of latex gloves and hospital make its way past the plastic tube in his nostrils, turning his stomach inside out. He never has liked hospitals, not since he was young and spending more time in a sick bed than his own. He has no idea why he’s here now, too drugged to even lift a finger....

1. The machines beep incessantly. It's the first thing he's aware of when he wakes, and the only thing existing for far too long. His eyelids are too heavy to open, and he can't feel a thing. He hates the hospital. He can't remember why, he's too sluggish to even think, but there is something about the distinct smell invading his nose that turns his stomach inside out. He slowly comes to awareness of a hand that clutches his own, fingers searing into his palm as their owner breathes loudly be...

The IV drips so loud you can hear it when you wake.  Your eyelids are too heavy to open, and you can't feel a thing.  It takes a few moments for you to realize where you are.You're helped along by the voice of a man (or a boy, his voice is so insecure) asking repeatedly, "How is he doing, Doctor?  When will he wake up?"  Your eyes flutter weakly, and can only see the blurry impression of the boy (or a man, he's almost tall enough) and a person in a white coat, the doctor.&...

I make room for Joan beside me when she asks. She speaks with a low voice and a hint of Asian accenting, always complaining that she sounds like a man. I think she sounds just fine. “What’s up?” she asks, sitting near me so that our arms barely graze and I could grasp her hand if I moved mine an inch or two. I grasp the grass instead. “Nothing really,” I sigh, leaning in towards her. We have a reputation for being attached at the waist, and it's embarrassing just how much I like that. I stay ...