Only Human

A sharp left turn. A sharp right turn. This wasn't drunk driving. This wasn't an adventurous course through a closed obstacle course. This was death sitting in the passenger seat. Death didn't stop and check the time or admired the scenery of the busy London streets. Death avoided each innocent pedestrian, carefully maneuvering around each obstacle. Until death was hovering thirty-three kilometers in the air before splashing into the Thames.

Everyone looked but no one bothered to go in after the shiny almost new red Mini Cooper that gradually began to sink further into the murky waters.

The driver remained calmly in her seat. Strapped in tightly. Her companion, Death, seemed to be enjoying this. She never fought back. Her pale fragile hands gripped the steering wheel with not much strength as if perhaps she didn't have the strength too. Not an inch of fear. Not an inch of panic etched her face. Death was taking over.

The infectious some-thousand year old water began to rise and rise. She remained in her seat. Her eyes closed. Chin up. She never opened them. Her eyes that is. Perhaps she just didn't care. Perhaps the logic that yes in less than eighty years she herself would be dying. But wasn't she afraid? The water level was at her chest now. Rising quickly. Death still sat in the passenger seat subsequently nodding his head. "That's life." he repeated over and over.

The water levels were almost eye-level now. Not that the twenty-something year old woman had noticed. Her head was tilted back now. Fearing her passenger. Her breaths were short and labored but cherishing the last of life she was able to grasp in her lungs. Her eyes forced shut. Her mouth sputtering out water. Her world ending second by second in black.

Fifteen minutes had passed. She was under the water. Stuck in a car. Someone jumped into the aging waters. A middle aged man. He had a family. A wife, a son, two daughters, a dog but he swam in the bone chilling waters. The ambulance, rescue squad, a bloody fucking crane all waited for the man to come up for air. Once he did. Well they didn't really decide what to do next.

The water was comforting in a strange way. Her seatbelt held her down as the water engulfed the vehicle. She was past panicking. It was like inner peace. The last remaining bit of oxygen escaped her lungs before her body gave into dark. A graceful smile lingered on her blue lips.

---

"You're running from something." he stated simply. The obvious no doubt about it. You didn't need a PhD in order to inform the pale brunette. She rolled her eyes and continued to wring her bony hands nestled in her lap.
"You could of died." he insisted trying to press further onto the subject.

"But I'm alive." she countered. Her voice cracked and held a raspy tone. She felt tired and completely and utterly bored. Her foot tapped nervously on the wood floor.

"But how?" he questioned more to himself then her.
She shrugged before standing up. Retrieving her grey cardigan from the ottoman next to her doctors desk she left the room.

…………….

August 15th 2011
-
I was told to start writing things down as a method for getting things down as a method of removing the fear and the hate from my system but there is no fear. There is no hate. But there is a lot of creaking in this wing of the hospital. A lot of shuffling and watchful eyes. Its not a comforting feeling but an eerie one. I think someone is here.

Nixie Abigail Edwards was not suicidal. She was not insane nor had any inch of hereditary lining that would even allow her to be in the psych ward. Nixie Edwards did however have an oddly shaped bite on her inner left forearm. The doctors said it was self inflicted, it didn't look self-inflicted.

Nixie Abigail Edwards was simply not a basket case, lunatic, psychotic etc. She was a simple middle class girl from the country side. She was average. Helplessly and overly average. Nixie was okay with this. She had to be but she shouldn't of been locked up in here. Something took control of her. The doctors didn't understand.

Chronic depression with suicidal tendencies.

Nixie sat in group therapy with another eye roll. This was all a joke to her. It was hard not to think other wise. She was not sick. Her fingers tapped anxiously on her protruding elbow bone. Her arms crossed tightly over her chest as she shifted in her seat once more. Anxiously. She simply excused herself from the session. The bite on her skin sending tingles up her arm. It was irritating and it didn't take long before the bite started to burn.

Nixie dropped herself on the weathered cot. Not even bothering to pull the thin sheet over her small frame. The bite spreading sensations of fire through her blood stream as she tried to not cry out in pain. Her forehead dampened with sweat, her pulse racing. Her head soon fell victim to the pain this "self inflicted" bite had caused. Her head began to throb as if her body was trying to eradicate it from itself.
Blood spilled from her arm and ears as the pain continued to increase by ten-fold. Her teeth pressed further down on her chapped lip. Her body convulsed. Nixie finally screamed. Her lungs, chest, body burning with fire.
Three nurses and a doctor came in. Each of their tired faces flushed with concern.
"Make it stop!" she screamed.
The pain stopped. The only blood coming out of
the nineteen year old girl was from her lip.
"Make it stop!" she continued to shriek.

Sixteen milimeters of sedation.
Nixie slept for three days. It was a black empty sleep. No dreams. No escape from reality. Just a bottomless pit of sleep.

Nixie stirred before her dull blue eyes opened.
"Good morning Miss Edwards, feeling better yes?" the nurse asked as she filled out the chart. Nixie glared at her before trying to remove the covers from her body only to realize she'd been shackled to the bed. She jingled her wrists.
"Well get them off don't worry Miss Edwards. It was for your own safety."

Nixie was starting to question her sanity now.