Afterlife.

In my opinion hospitals need to understand something. Something very important.

When you have just seen your best friend die a horrific death, and suffered only a head wound yourself, you do not wish to stay in an unstimulating, clinical room for three days with no distractions.

Completely alone.

Just as soon as I had been getting sick of staring at the same four walls, covering all of the notepaper I could find in sketches, scribbles and...me, myself, my thoughts - I needed something to create a blip in the endless blizzard of white in that room - a nurse came to sign me out. Yes, I was physically fine. Yes, I agreed to return if there were any complications. No, I would not do anything to hinder my recovery.

Of course, I had noticed that 'Anne' never returned. They must have been trying to make things “comfortable” for me.

Even though I had been signed out I remained in my bed, hoping for someone to show me what to do next. My entire world had been turned upside down and they expected me to carry on as usual; work at the theatre, looking after Giorgio the cat, and simply letting my life play out whichever way it chose. It seemed impossible that I could ever face the outdoor air again.

Life is not like riding a bike, because I definitely forgot how to live it.

After they forced me to move from my spot I walked listlessly through the halls. After endless thoughts of escape from my physical prison I suddenly didn't want to. To leave would be to give in to reality. And reality was following me around as a vulture circles death.

My wandering led me subconsciously to a Terminal Illness ward. The matronly nurse on the door tried to push me away but I moved past her into the long room. Those who were awake turned their faces towards me and their eyes were the saddest I had ever seen.

I stumbled along the aisle between the beds and saw photographs covering walls, clipboards hanging on the bed frames and the hollow eyes of the twenty odd occupants of that room. It was only as I left the room and heard whispers following me that I realised. Their sadness wasn't for themselves. It was pity for me.

My vision blurred and I raced along the hallways trying to find someone I recognised, or even air that felt breathable. Even those who had no tomorrow had pity for me.

A rational thought crept into my brain and I slowed to a walk before I reached Dan's room. I pushed the door open gently and slid inside, the tears that had been blurring my vision now loose and running down my face. I drew up a chair next to his bed and settled in to wait for him to wake up.

I needn't have set myself up for a fall. He was already awake and I stared into his eyes. My heart stopped it's pounding for a second as I observed the pain in their almost black depths.

I hesitantly raised my hand and pushed the hair back from his forehead. A slight sheen of sweat came away on my fingertips but I didn't care. He slowly moved his own hand to wipe away my tears.

I wondered what I had ever held against him.

"Phillipa." He croaked and I whimpered at the defeated tone of his voice. I leant closer and held his hand to my cheek. After four days of silence he struggled to form the words on his grief muted tongue.

"Daniel. Daniel, God what are we going to do?" I moaned resting my head against his chest, the wires and sensors still not covered by the sheets. I pulled it over him and he stuttered out the words he had spent so long searching for.

"Help me."