I (Don't) Need Your Forgiveness

I was disappointed when I opened my eyes. I was so weak that the effort sucked up all of my energy. Why couldn’t I just die already? The pain in my stomach was even sharper now, like a knife constantly stabbing at me.
Footsteps sounded nearby. Probably a deer or a moose or something.
“Hey! Lester! See that under the tree?”
“What is that? A dog?”
Two sets of footsteps came closer.
“Naw, Charlie, that’s a person.”
“A person?!”
“Yeah. A little slip of a girl. She’s all blue. Help me with her.”
Arms tugged at my body, lifting me up. I was being carried, and then, I was put into what I assumed without seeing, was the back of a truck.
When I opened my eyes again, I was lying on a soft bed, with someone standing over me.
“Charlie! She’s wakin’ up.”
A second person came to stand in the doorway.
“Give her some water. The doctor said water, until he gets here.”
“Can you sit up, honey?”
I tried, but I didn’t have the strength. The man pulled me up, and handed me a glass of water. It trembled in my hand, and I choked on the liquid from the severe dehydration.
“Lester? Is she drinkin’?”
“Yeah.”
“Doc’s pullin’ up now.”
I was lying down again when the doctor came in. I wondered if this was Appalachia or something, with a doctor that made house calls to a hillbilly log cabin in the middle of nowhere.
The doctor poked and prodded me, obviously shocked when he discovered that I wasn’t a girl as he’d been told. “I need to take…her… to town.”
“Is she gonna be okay?” Lester asked.
“I don’t know. You boys did a good thing, calling me.”
I was slipping in and out of consciousness as Lester and Charlie helped the doctor put me into a car. So much for dying peacefully.