Y Wednesday, August 19, 2009
6:46 pm
It's just like another one of those days where you get up, your head feels like something nasty went off in it, and most importantly, your mood stinks something foul. Not like a hangover. That one has past events associated with many laughs and even more alcohol. Or many sobs.Either way, this wasn't it. Explanations be damned. I'm feeling like crap and that's that.
Wait. My head hurts? No shit, Sherlock. No that isn't right. Didn't something gut my sides? Well doesn't hurt to check. Hang on, that's if I actually can feel my hands. Speaking of which, how are they supposed to work again?
So I'm lying somewhere, not sure where, but there. Seems like hours have passed. Could be days. Actually, scratch that. I don't think I have any perception of time.
Hang on, I'm lying down? Maybe, just maybe, this is what they call heaven. For all that atheism in life, this is how it ends. Fair enough, you can't be right all the time. Now where'd that big guy who's going to Olympian toss me into the lake of fire go?
Great. Maybe I'm not even granted that. If this is the end, pardon me, but it really, really SUCKS. I feel like the beached whale from Hitchhiker's.
"Ian?"
What? If this wasn't what it was, I'd think I heard someone!
"Ian? IAN."
Well it's worth a shot.
"Yeah, here. The hell's going on? Who're you? Where am I?"
"Look this isn't some soap opera cliche. Just hang on a little, we'll be ready for you in a bit."
"Hey-"
I open my eyes.
It didn't occur to me they were shut before. The light burned into my eyes, at least until my iris adjusted itself. Doesn't seem to be working too well though, everything's still white-ish - barely visible. Ah wait, the whole damn place is white. Seats, walls, everything. Like a hospital waiting room.
Eh? Is that an electronic queue number display? Wow. Wonders of modern technology.
"If you'd help yourself off the floor and back onto your seat, I think you'd be a lot more comfortable."
"Right. Thanks. Who are you again?" Sarcastic bastard.
"I maybe sarcastic, but at least I'm no liar. I haven't even introduced myself. Anyway, you can call me Peter."
Wow he reads minds? Privacy much?
"Oh privacy would be the least of my concerns if I were you. Oh, 164. I believe that's your number. Get moving."
A clacking sound resonates from the doors ahead of me. I get up, and realize I'm no longer in my favourite shirt, instead, it's a crappy white robe. I feel naked, never liked those robes, especially the ones they make you wear before an op. Least I look better in it than that Peter guy. Goddamn stocky, balding, unhappy bastard.
"I heard that. Now move before I make you."
I don't think being made to was a good idea, so I leave for the double doors.
Wait. What?
Peter? Waiting room? Holy shit.
Something hard shoves me, and the next thing I know, well, I don't think I do.