Fragments - Flash Anthology

Fourteen

The cold, empty room was brimming with the hum of various life-support devices. Across from the heavy cot stood a young woman in white and blue. After a minute more of pacing, she finally picked up a clipboard full of papers and approached the cot.

"Levi," she asked softly. "How are you feeling today?"

Only nearby electronics replied.

Betsy took a pen from her pocket and marked a fresh piece of paper on her clipboard. Then, she tried another question. "Levi, can you hear me?"

Another quick mark on the paper. Betsy continued to test motor and eye responses, but the result was as she expected.

"Looks like another three on the Glasgow Scale, Betsy."

"Shh--" Betsy pressed a finger across her lips. "Levi is just being shy! I can make him talk."

"Hah! Sure you can. He's toast! He's no more conscious than a head of broccoli!"

Betsy walked away from the cot to an opposing countertop. She set down her clipboard and picked up a thin book. "Levi," she said sweetly, like a mother to a toddler. "You want to hear about the big blue kitty, don't you?"

"He's not listening! Just give him the juice and be done with it. You'll never wake him, otherwise."

Betsy slowly twisted her shoulders back to the counter, her eyes anxiously creeping until a thick syringe came into sight. "No!" Betsy snapped back and walked up to the cot.

"Read to him, then. See how it goes! But he will only hate you for jailing him. You could set him free. But you choose to chain him still in a bleached room, like a rat in a lab."

Betsy shook her head and tried to ignore the hurtful words. After taking a few breaths, she opened up the book and sat down on the edge of the blue cot.

"Once upon a time--" she looked and heard a subtle moan--"there was a big blue kitten." Betsy looked again and smiled.

And as she read each page, she looked to the cot. Every time she turned and smiled, she heard and saw a response surpassing what she had just recorded using more traditional methods. She was the only one to see the spark of life still shining, but only when reading children's books.

"--and they lived happily ever after. The end."

"So, does he clap for you? No. He seems even more motionless! Are you trying to lull him to rest? He'll never open his eyes if you keep at it like this."

Betsy stood up in an instant. "It's the best I can do! What else am I supposed to do? At least Levi is happy this way!"

"He may pretend to love the stories you read, but he is lying."

The thin book suddenly flew across the room and hit a distant wall. Betsy was shaking with rage. "Levi wouldn't!"

"He hates you."

"No!"

"Then wake him. Use the syringe. No one would notice. We spent weeks getting it. Now is the time. Stab him with it. Right in the heart. He will sit right up. Then you will know. Then, the truth will be out."

She dashed to the counter and gripped the syringe. She caressed the needle against her cheek, then looked to the cot longingly. Betsy slithered up and readied her arm high. Then, she plunged it past the thick linens.

"And Levi, suddenly awakening, screams at the top of his lungs, 'I LOVE YOU, BETSY!'"

***

She's gone and stabbed the bed again. Of course she has. It's not even the first time she's done so.

That poor syringe. It's probably bent, again.

If only I could pass this one-way mirror. If only I were allowed to stop her, to help her.

Let's just write more notes, like we're told to. I know, if she improves, she'll make it out. Eventually. But, maybe, if I just write her in a better light, while being accurate, of course, then...

Oh! She's finally gotten off the bed! And the syringe is safely free without any bending or breaking! Oh, happiness!

Wait, where is she moving to? She just dropped it back on the floor where someone could crush it like it was nothing. But she's walking towards us!

She doesn't know I'm here, of course. No.

But she would love to meet us, I'm sure. It must be so lonely.

Look at her, now. Staring at the mirror on the other side, expressionless. I could fall in love with that face a thousand times over. And those eyes! They warp time and space, pulling us in, inescapably.

Oh, there she goes. Gone to the counter, again. How kind, she picked up her book on the way. The syringe, though. What a shame. What would happen if she were to press her weight upon the vessel? Or pierce her flesh with its cold needle? Ah, but the pristine floor, polished, uniform, and sterile; a crimson pool of life would only add to its beauty!

Then again, any wound of that kind would remove her from our safeguarding. Until her recovery, of course. It's happened before. Those days were beyond pain, like purgatory before another return to an eternity of paradise. At least our keepers were kind enough to put us to sleep with her. If only our dreams could have been stopped with our conscious mind.

Oh, how soon will we all go to sleep again? Not for injury and recovery, but just the daily reprieve. It shouldn't be more than another hour or two, especially given how worn out she is. How we all are, already.

Sleep. How peaceful. What solace it would bring.

She should know he's not there. She should know she's all alone in there. But, even without the knowledge, a good short rest would likely bring her pleasant realities without the need for personalities. Asleep, she could give herself the perfect world to live within instead of pretending in this careless, selfish place.

Sleep, now. Get to rest. Unlike the sleep that comes after serious injuries, that dreaded banishment that seals us away, this short rest will let us play. I will watch over you, protect you. And you will be at ease.

There, he will be real.

Awake.

Together.

With you.