Lights?

Voices?

So tired...

Darkness.

***

​When I opened my eyes, I found myself lying on bed. It wasn't the rubble I expected, but rather some sort of patient room. One of the nice ones you pay extra to get into; patterned wooden strips lined up against the walls, a white curvy ceiling, black marble floors and a king size bed I was lying upon. To the side was a small sink with a fridge and a massive plasma TV, larger than my king sized bed. To my right were a pair of glass doors leading onto a small balcony. I could see parts of the outside over the railing; a lush emerald green forest, brilliant snow peaked mountains, combined with a shower of golden sunlight. Seeing this would normally have made my day, but for some reason I wasn't feeling it at the moment. Two quick knocks came on the white paneled door. Before I could even a get single word off my tongue, the door slid open. A single figure stepped through.

​She appeared to be in her mid-twenties, and when she stood on her heels she seemed a little taller than me. Her skin was a shade of deep oily tan, her long dark chocolate hair loosely draped down her shoulders, and those large round glassy dark eyes were simply mesmerizing. If it hadn't been for the white lab coat and office clothes she wore, I would have thought she was the world's most perfect model. I did my best to prop myself up against the bed, then turned my head to face her to hear what she was saying.

​"Good morning! I am Dr. Cherrylove, you must be Mr. Romello! It's my pleasure to meet you, I heard about what you did, it was amazing! Do you mind if I just come in and talk for a bit?" Her voice was full of honey and enthusiasm, but I wasn't much for conversation at that time, though a part of me couldn't help but want to get more of it.

​"Su...sure." I stuttered. As if she had expected the answer, she pulled up a six legged wheeled chair and scooted it right up beside my bed.

"Mr. Romello..." her sentence trailed off as she paused and reached over to put her hand on top of my mine. I knew skin ship was a way for people to get more affectionate with one another but I couldn't help but blush rather than act cool and play along. As if sensing distress, her lips cracked into a large smile and she continued:

"Is it ok if I just call you Kard instead?"
"Go ahead." I said, managing the smallest of smiles.

"Awesome! Before I start, I just want to tell you that I am a huge fan of yours." Still smiling, she leaned backward and pulled back her hand. Then she set her hand on her chest like a fan.

"When I first heard your story, I couldn't believe it! Kard you are a hero!"

"Um...Thanks?"

I wasn't really good with receiving compliments, I hadn't been my entire life. That was especially true when they was for something big, because I didn't know how to properly react to them, so usually I kind of just shrugged them off with sentences like:

"Sure, thanks."

"No problem."

"Anytime bro."

Though they may sound like silly responses, it was the best I could manage at that time. Anyway it's not like there are people wanting to appreciate me for something I did every day, so I hadn't had much for practice.

"Thanks? What kind of attitude is that? You're the hero who saved the city, you should be proud of yourself!"

​"O...Okay." Like I said before I wasn't used to receiving praise, so I decided to cut straight to the chase to avoid further awkwardness.

​"So what are your questions?" I asked as politely as possible.

In response she silently tapped her chin a few times before she opened her mouth to speak again:

"Ah the questions, don't worry we got lots of time. They are not serious or anything." She waved her hand in dismissal and that's when I noticed she wasn't holding a notepad, not even a pen.

Almost as if she could read my mind she quickly continued:

"Oh, you're probably wondering why I didn't bring a notepad or a pen as a matter of fact these questions aren't serious or anything, I just want to see how well you are doing, so feel free to say anything, I am listening," she said, one hand brushing her hair aside.

"Where am I?"

"Sky cove recovery center, 56th floor."

"Recovery center huh..." I paused.
"How long have I been here exactly?"

"You were unconscious for 3 days, today's the 4th."

Then the scariest thought hit me, but before I could move my lips, the doctor continued:

"Illyria is her name? Is it? Don't worry she's fine, she was out of the hospital in day one."

That soothed my biggest fear, but I still had a thousand questions piled up in my head with two hundred percent of them involving Illyria.

"Really!" I probably squealed like a little girl, but I couldn't care less, it was Illyria for God's sake.

The smile on the doctor lips faded as she turned away, for a glimpse her face caught in a guilty expression, but it was gone in a moment.

"Yep."

Ignoring the sour tone in her voice, I pressed on with my questions:

"By any chance, did she visit me while I was unconscious?"

Her lips turned into a hard thin line and she went silent for a long time, so long that I thought she had gone mute, and when she did speak again I almost couldn't believe my ears:

"She didn't physically visit you in person. She sends her best regards to you."

This was all too much for me to take, all my efforts of risking my life to save her, and she didn't even come and visit once I was unconscious?

"Why...?"

The word hung in the air like a dead corpse. Rotten, solid, odorous, and the most awkward thing about it was; I don't know what to do...

"She couldn't bring herself to see you, after what happened..." her words trailed off into a grave, and whatever came back from her words was anything but good.

"What happened?"

The look in the doctor's eye was clear: You can't handle the truth, period.
Despite her previous warning, when reached out for my arm tentatively, I pulled myself away instead. Because that moment I only wanted the truth and nothing less than the truth. When I looked at her again, there was a silent plea in her eyes, but God, I just had to be that ignorant fool who made other people's jobs harder than they already were.

"During the events of the terrorist attack, your left arm..." Instinctively I looked over my shoulder to my left. I felt my entire world would capsize. The sounds became muffled, shapes began to blur, the colours of life began to dissolve as my heart beat out the rhythm of despair.

"...was caught in a bullet storm, most of the muscle tissues were destroyed..."

No...no this can't be happening...

"The cells were beyond repair, what's going to happen next it going to entirely depend on your choice..."

No, none of this is real...it's all just a bad dream...it will all gonna be gone when I wake up...

"Your parents have already been contacted and your post-secondary has been notified of your condition..."

"THEN WHY AM I NOT WAKING UP!"

My last thought came out as a scream. My hand clenched the bedsheet and I cried. Tears fell like rain from my eyes, but no matter how loud I howled or cried, the pain didn't ease, it was still fresh in mind. For no apparent reason, I reached over my good hand to my ex-good arm, or at least what was left of it. Under my white patient clothes I could see a short stub wrapped around it, cloth jutting out my sleeve. The moment my good hand touched the cloth, emptiness was the first thing I felt. Not the kind of empty you feel when you are low on taquitos, but the kind of empty you feel when your dog dies. Sorry I couldn't come up with any better comparison, but it justified exactly what I was feeling that moment, taquitos? That I could live without. But a dog who spent every moment of his life over the past 18 years right by you, man's best friend in all scenarios, just all of a sudden, gone. (Sorry I didn't mean that to be a joke, but the topic was kind of getting heavy even for me now.)

After about a million tears and tissues later, the doctor spoke up again:

"I am truly sorry for your tragic loss. I understand it could be difficult to accept at first, but everything is going to get better."

I wasn't even looking at her at that point, and all I could think of was:

You never lost an arm yourself, how can you possibly understand me?

"Everything is going to get better"
Seriously!?

I felt my face burning, pulse rising, vision tunneling into darkness from dreadful thoughts, thoughts about the future...

How am I going to live like this? Cut a steak with one hand? Drive a car with one hand? Dress myself with one hand?

Those were just the surface of my dread, the worst were still to come:
How will people see me now? Curses! 'Care for the disabled?' more like everyone would just want to avoid them and get on with their day....

Then the worst hit me.

What would Illyria think of me?
...

No...

No, no...

No, no, no...

NOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!

I am a one arm freak!

Illyria would never love me, not like this...

Curses...

Curses...

Curses...

CURSES!!!

Darkness.

Q: How would you respond to a praise?
​