i wrote most of this on my birthday y'all (sep.7), i have officially entered my twentieth year of life and i hate it

I don't know if this could be called dreaming or not but it does feel awfully wraithlike, dreamy. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I know this could be the famed 'light at the end of the tunnel' everyone associates with the afterlife. I think I'm tarrying in it, the mouth of death. There was never a tunnel, for me, though; I just seem to open my eyes into this reality. Or is it rather some kind of suspended non-iteration of being?

The front of my mind is quiet, for once peaceful. But the back of my mind dimly— unnoticed by the front— debates topics at random. I could be dead, for instance. Or, perhaps, I'm only having a near-death experience. Where am I— this heaven-like or maybe purgatorial parcel ground? And when I can't be sure of the answers, I return to wraithlike observation of the long grass at my fingertips, the white sky above, the ghostly alluvion of light washing my skin. There is no pain or discomfort here, but there isn't really anything to balance upon— only the sterile ambiance and myself in it.

With that lonely revelation, I'm almost glad to reawaken elsewhere, somewhere. But I don't welcome the stinging pain and the numb roaring of blood in my ears. I can see my environment is mostly white, still stingingly sterile in smell, the only noise being that of a humming air conditioner and a modest beep sounding periodically from somewhere behind my head. I blink. There's someone breathing evenly, serenely, in a chair beside me.

I try to face them, but only then do I begin to experience the true condition of my body. I'm broken, pinned up raggedly in a cotton-filled cot. Pain ripples up and down my body like vibrations through metal. I can only grimace as the pain rings in my teeth.

"Ah!" I gasp, biting my lip to prevent other painful utterances. This catches my visitor's attention.

"Lance! You're awake!" Is that Keith? "O, God— your mom will be so relieved," he says, getting up and leaning over my cot. "How do you feel?" That's Keith's face, but are his eyes usually such a heavenly color? Can I see straight or am I seeing stars?

"Ah...!—Mn et-ude...!" It was meant to be understood as I'm not good, but Keith looks thoroughly confused.

He searches my face for a few seconds. I watch his eyes. Stars don't pop and twinkle around his head, as they would if I were dizzy. The edges of my vision are clear enough. I suppose it's his eyes that are sparkling all of their own volition. His jaw tightens with a frown and then he releases the tension to speak.

"I should go get the doctor. Wait— yeah, that's right—!" he says to himself. "There's a button to call them... Hang on, Lance."

I can hear the faint evidence of buttons clacking on the wall beside me, the sound of a cellphone's keyboard sending texts, then dialing on his phone. He calls my mom.

"Hey, Mrs. McClain! I know you're on the way up here, I just wanted to tell you that Lance is awake— ... er, I don't actually know what to do, I'm waiting for the doctor— but, yes, he is not in a coma!"

I stifle a scoff for fear of the following pain. Instead, I roll my eyes. It would be just like my mom to assume the worst and make some poor victim— probably Veronica— drive her all the way up here. I listen as Keith assures her. He gives me some insight while I thoroughly register that this quirky setting is in reality.

"I haven't heard too much from the actual doctor, only what Shiro's told me. Lance's vitals are okay, it's just there's so many breaks and fractures. They're most worried about his neck, for sure, but— mhm," he pauses to listen, fucking interrupting the flow of intel about my situation. "Yeah, I actually just did that this morning, before coming up here. The professor said I could deliver to him his homework packet— not do it, obviously— and there's now a tailored online practical available to him in the webcourse." He pauses to laugh light-heartedly. "No problem, Mrs. McClain!"

By now, I'm wondering how Keith got so involved. Did he break away from the cheer practice immediately and stick by my side this whole time? Is Coach S visiting me regularly and just keeping Keith in the loop? How did Keith get my mom's phone number? I haven't come out to her yet, does this mean she knows I'm....

Oh, wait— what are Keith and I, anyway? Maybe she's considering him my best friend, or something else hokey and mom-like. If I could find the strength and the words to ask, I would. I wish I could produce a good syllable of sound above the pain. But Keith hangs up with my mom and returns his attention to me before I can follow that line of thought any further.

"Hey... Lance," he says heavily. "It's really good to see you awake."

I desperately want to ask what happened to me, but I can't manage enough strength. I let Keith look at me. I feel suspended, spread-eagle, almost as if in a NICU. My ears burn with frustration, left with no other option than to idly wait for the doctor to help me, I guess. She comes in soon enough.

unedited