Beep
1/1
Beep.
I’m walking through the door, only to find that nothing’s changed. You’re still drowning in a sea of white, and your skin still matches the color of the sheets.
Beep.
It looks like the microchip we found when we tore apart the old computer, so many cords, but I don’t know where they go. Is that one helping you breathe? Is that one helping your heartbeat? Is that one keeping you alive? In a room full of robots there’s only one that matters.
Beep.
The one that counts one, two, three to the rhythms of your chest, it never stops. It’s just constant beeping as the little neon line goes up and down, a roller coaster in the middle of the night.
Beep.
I take my usual seat, next to the window, next to your bed, next to what may be the last bed you’ll ever lay in. It’s hard to look at you, why is everything so hard? I do it anyway; I turn my eyes down, and gaze at your sleeping form. You’ve been asleep for almost two weeks, and they say you might not wake up.
I wonder what you’re dreaming about.
Beep.
My fingers intertwine with yours. You’re so cold; I’d think you were already dead if it wasn’t for that fateful beep.
Beep.
Then I start to talk, they say talking helps. I tell you stories, I tell you about what’s going on in the world, and I talk about memories. I hope that you can hear me, wherever you are. Is it nice there? Nicer than the cold room you’re laying in, of course it is. You’re mind always had a way of creating beautiful things; you’re probably in one of those pretty worlds you talk about so much. Meanwhile, I’m trapped in this cold room; it’s almost as cold as your fingers.
Take me with you.
Beep.
I can’t help the tears that roll down my cheeks, and onto your arm.
Beep.
I watch as the neon roller coaster goes up and down.
Beep.
But why is it picking up speed?
Beep.
What’s going on?
Beep.
They’re trying to save you, please just wake up.
Beep.
And then the beeping stopped.
I’m walking through the door, only to find that nothing’s changed. You’re still drowning in a sea of white, and your skin still matches the color of the sheets.
Beep.
It looks like the microchip we found when we tore apart the old computer, so many cords, but I don’t know where they go. Is that one helping you breathe? Is that one helping your heartbeat? Is that one keeping you alive? In a room full of robots there’s only one that matters.
Beep.
The one that counts one, two, three to the rhythms of your chest, it never stops. It’s just constant beeping as the little neon line goes up and down, a roller coaster in the middle of the night.
Beep.
I take my usual seat, next to the window, next to your bed, next to what may be the last bed you’ll ever lay in. It’s hard to look at you, why is everything so hard? I do it anyway; I turn my eyes down, and gaze at your sleeping form. You’ve been asleep for almost two weeks, and they say you might not wake up.
I wonder what you’re dreaming about.
Beep.
My fingers intertwine with yours. You’re so cold; I’d think you were already dead if it wasn’t for that fateful beep.
Beep.
Then I start to talk, they say talking helps. I tell you stories, I tell you about what’s going on in the world, and I talk about memories. I hope that you can hear me, wherever you are. Is it nice there? Nicer than the cold room you’re laying in, of course it is. You’re mind always had a way of creating beautiful things; you’re probably in one of those pretty worlds you talk about so much. Meanwhile, I’m trapped in this cold room; it’s almost as cold as your fingers.
Take me with you.
Beep.
I can’t help the tears that roll down my cheeks, and onto your arm.
Beep.
I watch as the neon roller coaster goes up and down.
Beep.
But why is it picking up speed?
Beep.
What’s going on?
Beep.
They’re trying to save you, please just wake up.
Beep.
And then the beeping stopped.