Burning

I don't think I was awake, exactly. It felt like I could move. But it was like I was deep in water. There was more resistance than regular air could provide. I must have been breathing the water, as well. It didn't have the qualities of air…it was cool…and oddly soothing on my scorched lungs. Adding to the 'not awake' theory was that I couldn't open my eyes. I tried, but it was so hard. I strained until I was exhausted.

The thought that I had died crossed my mind. But I didn't think I was dead. If I was in Heaven, there wouldn't be any discomfort. And there certainly was enough; my back, ankle, head, and skin still felt injured, though it was nowhere near as bad as when it had happened. It had faded to more of a vague discomfort. It wasn't anywhere near what Hell would be, though.

I had no idea what was going on, honestly. If I wasn't dead, where was I? It couldn't be sleep. Maybe it was a coma, after that huge crash. I had hit my head…. Who knew? All I knew is that I wanted to wake up. I wanted to know if I was all right. If the other person, the one that had hit me, was all right. And I kind of wanted to see how this would all turn out. After all, that crash wasn't the kind that someone could walk away from, especially after I caught fire.

There was no sense of time while I was in that state. It might have been seconds, and I might have been merely knocked out in the hospital. It also might have been years, and I might have been in a coma. Who knew?

But after a period of time, things started happening. I caught snatches of voices. I felt things more. I had on what felt like a hospital gown. It was rough on my skin, and it hurt. But I was so glad for the pain. It told me that I wasn't dead, that I might still pull out of this.

My eyes opened. I didn't will them to. They just did it by themselves, but they immediately clamped back shut. The harsh white light was far too much to bear. A spasm of pain went through my head, but again, I rejoiced at it. I eased my eyes open, trying to see where I was. An odd curiosity overtook me. I needed to know where I was.

I should be dead. I needed to know that I wasn't. I didn't want to be dead, but my mind was a logical one, and I knew that it was highly unlikely that I'd survive after sustaining such extensive bodily damage. Maybe I was in purgatory. Or something like that. I suddenly regretted not paying more attention in church….

When I finally got my eyes adjusted to the light, I saw a hospital room and was filled with overwhelming relief. I was alive. For the time being, at least, I remained on earth. My eyes swept over the room. It was actually a hall, one of the ones in Bellevue hospital. The white floral wallpaper gave it away; no other clinic had such ridiculous walls.

I tried to sit up. The first movement caused intense pain, and I involuntarily dropped back to the bed with a thud. So I really had hurt my back. No one was by my bedside, so there was nothing left to do but see what worked.

I could wiggle my toes, but my left ankle was already in plaster. Everything that touched them hurt my arms, but I could move them well. I couldn't move my head without horrible, stabbing pains, however, so I couldn't actually see what kind of a state I was in. I'm sure it wasn't good.

Eventually someone noticed I was awake and a doctor came over. He was rather plain looking, with receeding, mousy brown hair and an Italian nose, distinctly middle age. He didn't say anything at first, just checked a ton of papers on his clipboard and examining the equipment I was hooked up to. Finally, he looked up at me and gave a weak smile.

"Well, you're a very lucky girl, aren't you, Danielle?" He said in an odd accent; it was probably some form of a southern one.

"It's Dani," I said, but lapsed into a fit of painful coughing. The air scraped against my throat when I spoke, but when I coughed, it moved my back and everything was painful.

"Whoa," Mr. Plain continued, "Don't talk, I should have told you that. But just listen, I'll explain what happened, and what condition you're in." The way he put it sounded like I was dying. I shut up and listened, trying to find out how bad things were from his inflections, "I don't know if you remember what happened, but I'll tell you anyway. You were driving, and you crashed. There was another car, and he hit you. The gasoline tank of your car leaked all over you, and…you caught on fire. 35% of you is covered in second or third degree burns. It's mostly your mid-torso up. You also have minor spinal damage, broke your ankle, and have a minor concussion. We've done some work on your, with parental consent; we induced a medical coma for a week. You've had skin grafts, mostly, and constant liquid in the IV," he nodded to the needle in the back of my hand as I struggled to absorb this all, "When you were first picked up by the ambulance, you were still burning. They had to hose you down. It sent you into shock, and damaged your skin ever further."

Nothing was sinking in. I'd seen shows on TLC about burn victims. They never recovered well. They had to spend thousands of dollars on reconstructive surgery. They spent weeks in Intensive Burn Units. It was…awful.

People came and went in the next half-hour. Nurses, doctors, other patients trying to comfort me. But no one would give me what I wanted. Finally, my parents came in, crying. They both cringed when their eyes rested on me. I know they'd give it to me, as much as they didn't want to.

"Ma," I croaked, fighting not to cough, "I want a mirror."