Status: Completed
She Dreams
1/1
And every second that dances by, every minute that she watches life swirl up, out, and away through an IV tube, she wonders how much this is worth it.
But more than that, she dreams. She dreams of happy, of healthy. She dreams of Roy, wondering if he really was staring at her in class. She dreams of her best friend’s life; dreams of sitting down to a real dinner, not a crinkly collection of vending machine food.
BadaDA. BaDAda.BadadaDA.
No beat is the same, but they interrupt her dreams equally. They demand her attention to her vigil. They demand that she think not of healthy (This is a hospital, for heaven’s sake!) They squash thoughts of Roy, coloring his outline with selfishness and greed. It is selfish for her to want something like love. They shake the cellophane debris of her dinner, scattered around her in twisted poses of half eaten despair.
BadaaaaaDA. BaDADA. BAdadada.
These beats are her life. These beats control her life.
She dreams that they go smoothly. She dreams that she doesn’t hold her breath when they stop.
She dreams that they don’t stop at all.
That they will not stop in the next two hours.
Two hours.
Two hours are all she has left to dream.
Two hours are all she has left of being a sister.
In two hours, she will have been a sister for fourteen years and three hundred days.
Fourteen years, three hundred days, and two hours.
Her dreams don’t know what not being a sister is.
In her dreams, she is always a sister.
A sister to a fighter. A fighter on the football field, where his heart belonged
Not a fighter in a hospital bed, his heart lying in a medical disposal area.
It was broken, so he needed a new one
He got a new one, but this one must have been broken too.
Maybe it didn’t belong on a football field.
His body rejected it
And now he lies here, thin as the shroud of reality that’s crushing her dreams.
He is crushing her dreams.
His reality, his heart defect, is crushing her dreams. Her dreams and his, because they are tied together.
She dreams of him being out of the hospital. She dreams of everything that would mean, everything that could change.
When he can, he dreams of her achieving her dreams. But unlike his sister, he knows there’s two ways to get to them….
He’s stuck in dreamland right now. Morphine induced dreamland. They told him, that he was dying. They gripped his pale hand, a hand that ached for the burn of the sun and the sweat of exertion. For the scrape of rough ground and the shape of worn leather.
BAdada. BadA. B-
Silence.
The beat has stopped. And it hasn’t started again.
And he is tumbling into oblivion as his sister tumbles out of dreamland and into the dream she thought she wanted.
Something….is terribly wrong.
But more than that, she dreams. She dreams of happy, of healthy. She dreams of Roy, wondering if he really was staring at her in class. She dreams of her best friend’s life; dreams of sitting down to a real dinner, not a crinkly collection of vending machine food.
BadaDA. BaDAda.BadadaDA.
No beat is the same, but they interrupt her dreams equally. They demand her attention to her vigil. They demand that she think not of healthy (This is a hospital, for heaven’s sake!) They squash thoughts of Roy, coloring his outline with selfishness and greed. It is selfish for her to want something like love. They shake the cellophane debris of her dinner, scattered around her in twisted poses of half eaten despair.
BadaaaaaDA. BaDADA. BAdadada.
These beats are her life. These beats control her life.
She dreams that they go smoothly. She dreams that she doesn’t hold her breath when they stop.
She dreams that they don’t stop at all.
That they will not stop in the next two hours.
Two hours.
Two hours are all she has left to dream.
Two hours are all she has left of being a sister.
In two hours, she will have been a sister for fourteen years and three hundred days.
Fourteen years, three hundred days, and two hours.
Her dreams don’t know what not being a sister is.
In her dreams, she is always a sister.
A sister to a fighter. A fighter on the football field, where his heart belonged
Not a fighter in a hospital bed, his heart lying in a medical disposal area.
It was broken, so he needed a new one
He got a new one, but this one must have been broken too.
Maybe it didn’t belong on a football field.
His body rejected it
And now he lies here, thin as the shroud of reality that’s crushing her dreams.
He is crushing her dreams.
His reality, his heart defect, is crushing her dreams. Her dreams and his, because they are tied together.
She dreams of him being out of the hospital. She dreams of everything that would mean, everything that could change.
When he can, he dreams of her achieving her dreams. But unlike his sister, he knows there’s two ways to get to them….
He’s stuck in dreamland right now. Morphine induced dreamland. They told him, that he was dying. They gripped his pale hand, a hand that ached for the burn of the sun and the sweat of exertion. For the scrape of rough ground and the shape of worn leather.
BAdada. BadA. B-
Silence.
The beat has stopped. And it hasn’t started again.
And he is tumbling into oblivion as his sister tumbles out of dreamland and into the dream she thought she wanted.
Something….is terribly wrong.
♠ ♠ ♠
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