Strawberry Fields Forever
09.
* Isabel's P.O.V. *
When I was a kid, most girls my age dreamt about ponies and fairies and all that other Disney crap. Even in my early teenage years, when girls fantasized about the cute boy that sat next to them in math class or what it would feel like to be filthy rich, I wondered about heaven and hell.
I believed in God. I wasn't that religious, and we didn't go to church, but I still believed in Him. When I was younger, I liked to believe that you got to heaven by climbing a golden elevator through the clouds, and then walked through massive golden gates into a dream-like world where whatever you want goes. I even imagined what it would be like to have wings, as an angel. Picturing hell, I could see my father burning there, in a deep fiery cave where he would shovel coal or something for eternity.
I do believe that, in a matter of seconds, I got a glimpse of heaven. As I was told later, my father nearly choked me to death -- actually, he sort of did -- before a swarm of doctors and nurses arrived to pull him off, shortly followed by the police coming to arrest him. I was rushed to the ER, even though I was already halfway there, and they attempted to pump life back into my crashing lungs.
Technically, I died. My heart flat-lined for approximately twenty-seven seconds, the longest they've seen someone die before returning to life.
In twenty-seven seconds, I believe I saw heaven. It was dark, not light, and at first I thought it was hell. I felt myself floating through this dark abyss, and then there was a voice; a man's voice, deep and hollow; that said, "Look up".
There was a ladder, and I tentatively climbed it. I pushed through a manhole and found myself on the street of a city. People were swarming the streets, walking in and out of stores, eating lunch at outdoor cafe's, walking their dogs. I thought for sure I hadn't died, and that this was some sort of mix-up, until I saw something that looked strangely like the face of Jesus Christ.
And then, after this twenty-seven second expedition, I returned to life. After this, doctors were sure I would fall into a coma and die anyways, but miraculously, I did not. I didn't wake up until eight hours later, and the first thing I asked the nurse who hovered over me, was "Where's Mike?"
"How're you feeling, honey?" The nurse said, completely ignoring my question.
"Fine. Where's Mike?"
"You're gonna feel some pain in your chest, and every time you do we need you to take this inhaler. This is how you use it--"
"Excuse me," I said, so she looked at me. "I really need to know where Mike is."
"Mike...who?"
"The man that was in the room when my father tried to kill me. He was thrown against the wall..."
"Oh, yes, him. Um...he was fine, I think he might have been released already. Would you like me to check?"
"Yes, please."
Soon after she left, I began to notice the pain she was describing before I cut in. I had no idea what had happened, except that I passed out to my father's beady, hellish eyes glaring me down as his hands wrapped around my neck. I shivered just thinking about it.
I stood from my bed, careful not to tangle any of the IV's, and inched my way to the mirror on the wall.
Red marks, now swelling to purple, were laced around the skin of my neck, permanent hand prints that I knew would never fully heal. At least not in my mind.
"Isabel?"
I turned -- a little too sharply -- to see Mike standing in the doorway. He didn't look nearly as injured as me, thankfully. I wondered how it was that I had barely known Mike for a day or two, and already I saw him as a father figure. Probably because I had no one else in my life.
I fell into his embrace gratefully, my body trembling under his strong hold. I buried my face into his neck, inhaling the scent of aftershave and peppermint. As he whispered comforting things into my ear -- "I will never let anybody hurt you like that again," -- I wanted nothing more in the world than to stay like this, barely hanging on, forever.
When I was a kid, most girls my age dreamt about ponies and fairies and all that other Disney crap. Even in my early teenage years, when girls fantasized about the cute boy that sat next to them in math class or what it would feel like to be filthy rich, I wondered about heaven and hell.
I believed in God. I wasn't that religious, and we didn't go to church, but I still believed in Him. When I was younger, I liked to believe that you got to heaven by climbing a golden elevator through the clouds, and then walked through massive golden gates into a dream-like world where whatever you want goes. I even imagined what it would be like to have wings, as an angel. Picturing hell, I could see my father burning there, in a deep fiery cave where he would shovel coal or something for eternity.
I do believe that, in a matter of seconds, I got a glimpse of heaven. As I was told later, my father nearly choked me to death -- actually, he sort of did -- before a swarm of doctors and nurses arrived to pull him off, shortly followed by the police coming to arrest him. I was rushed to the ER, even though I was already halfway there, and they attempted to pump life back into my crashing lungs.
Technically, I died. My heart flat-lined for approximately twenty-seven seconds, the longest they've seen someone die before returning to life.
In twenty-seven seconds, I believe I saw heaven. It was dark, not light, and at first I thought it was hell. I felt myself floating through this dark abyss, and then there was a voice; a man's voice, deep and hollow; that said, "Look up".
There was a ladder, and I tentatively climbed it. I pushed through a manhole and found myself on the street of a city. People were swarming the streets, walking in and out of stores, eating lunch at outdoor cafe's, walking their dogs. I thought for sure I hadn't died, and that this was some sort of mix-up, until I saw something that looked strangely like the face of Jesus Christ.
And then, after this twenty-seven second expedition, I returned to life. After this, doctors were sure I would fall into a coma and die anyways, but miraculously, I did not. I didn't wake up until eight hours later, and the first thing I asked the nurse who hovered over me, was "Where's Mike?"
"How're you feeling, honey?" The nurse said, completely ignoring my question.
"Fine. Where's Mike?"
"You're gonna feel some pain in your chest, and every time you do we need you to take this inhaler. This is how you use it--"
"Excuse me," I said, so she looked at me. "I really need to know where Mike is."
"Mike...who?"
"The man that was in the room when my father tried to kill me. He was thrown against the wall..."
"Oh, yes, him. Um...he was fine, I think he might have been released already. Would you like me to check?"
"Yes, please."
Soon after she left, I began to notice the pain she was describing before I cut in. I had no idea what had happened, except that I passed out to my father's beady, hellish eyes glaring me down as his hands wrapped around my neck. I shivered just thinking about it.
I stood from my bed, careful not to tangle any of the IV's, and inched my way to the mirror on the wall.
Red marks, now swelling to purple, were laced around the skin of my neck, permanent hand prints that I knew would never fully heal. At least not in my mind.
"Isabel?"
I turned -- a little too sharply -- to see Mike standing in the doorway. He didn't look nearly as injured as me, thankfully. I wondered how it was that I had barely known Mike for a day or two, and already I saw him as a father figure. Probably because I had no one else in my life.
I fell into his embrace gratefully, my body trembling under his strong hold. I buried my face into his neck, inhaling the scent of aftershave and peppermint. As he whispered comforting things into my ear -- "I will never let anybody hurt you like that again," -- I wanted nothing more in the world than to stay like this, barely hanging on, forever.