You're Not A Monster (TomTord)

Chapter 23

Edd followed the people as they carried Tord down the hall and into a vacant room. They carefully laid him down on the operating table, as doctors quickly rushed into the room. Edd was allowed to stay in the room while the doctors operated surgery. He watched as one of the doctors tore Tord's pants so that they could better access the wound. He gasped at the ugly colored puncture wound in Tord's thigh.

“Yeah, it's definitely infected,” Isaiah, one of the doctors, said. “We’ll need to clean it first. Marcus, hand me the saline solution.”

Another doctor, Marcus, grabbed a small clear plastic bottle, and handed it to him. Isaiah then opened it, and began pouring some all over the infected wound.

“Okay, now hand me the gauze.”

Marcus grabbed a couple wet pieces of gauze, and placed them in Isaiah’s hand, who then started rinsing the wound, clearing out any debris that may have gotten stuck inside it. After he was done Isaiah then grabbed a towel and carefully dried off Tord's thigh. He then grabbed a container, most likely medicine, and rubbed it into the wound. Another doctor, whose name was Alex, picked up a handful of dry gauze, and handed them to Isaiah.

“Thank you Alex,” he said, taking the gauze from her.

They began wrapping Tord's thigh in gauze, reaching all the way down to his knee. After they were done, they lifted Tord off the table, and onto a gurney, and rolled him down the hall into another room. They replaced Tord's red hoodie and ripped jeans with a long hospital gown, then placed him in bed, covering his legs with a thin sheet.

Once they were sure he was situated, they left, most likely to cheek on another patient, leaving Edd in the room by himself. He sat down in the chair next to Tord's bed and buried his head in his arms. Tears ran down his face. Everything was falling down around him, and it was just too much to handle on his own. He was so worried. Worried about himself, worried about his friends. He still had no idea where Tom was, and Edd hated to imagine his friend lying in a ditch, or on the side of the road, bleeding to death. He silently sobed harder, soaking the sleeves of his hoodie with his tears. The world was slowly coming to an end, and there was nothing anyone could do to stop it.