By Eilan
Maybe if i were invisible. All the monsters in the white coats would forget about me. They would stop telling my parents lies. THey would just tell them upfront...
"Your daughter is dying."
But they won't. Because since I'm still breathing, my heart is still pumping... I can live forever. But these machines keep my lungs inhaling, me alive...
What if I don't want to keep living? Not like this. Not after she wants me dead... The Goddess wanted me to die, but the evil men in white coats want to disobey her. They're keeping me here, trapping my soul within this useless shell of flesh.
MY sister stands above me, her red hair brushes across my face. I wish i could yank it, then slap her across the face. I hate her right now. I hate her hair, that brilliant weave of firey gold, while mine is made of brown straw. I hate that all the boys scramble to talk to her. And leave me in the dark. I hate the bruise strewn across her forehead, her only souvenier of that night. I hate her, and her dea dboyfriend, the real reason that i'm here. Waiting for the Goddess to take me home. That bastard. That horny bastard. I hope the Goddess took him, then sent him back as a mushroom. Her sure as hell deserves it. Because he sent me here.
Here, on this moth eaten mat, waiting for death. I can hear them calling me. I pretend not to listen. I can feel my mother brushing my hair through the long nights, even though i pretend i can't. I listen when the doctors say that i'm a comatose, that i an unaware of myself or my surroundings.
One day, i will jump up and laugh. i will point at them, and their snotty faces, and tell them i felt and heard EVERYTHING. That even with their stupid PhD's they still didn't nkow JACK SHIT.
But not today. Today i am tired, so i will lie here, and listen to my mother read Charlotte's web to me. She must think that i am still small, that i am not 15, and that I am just a baby girl again. I hear her say it to me over and over again. But I don't want to listen, if I had tears, I would cry for her.
"You're my baby again. Helpless again..."
Then she starts to read again. Sometimes i think she's happy that I'm broken, that I'm her baby again. And i want to scream at her, tell her I'm 15 and that I'm not her baby. But a wire holds my jaw shut. I think that's broken too.
Everything is broken.
There are nights when i wish they would cut the tubes. But they are not ready to ay good bye to me. But they don't realize how much pain I am in. They can't understand that everything hurts, and that it never stops. Every time the machine forces air into me, my chest threatens to burts, sending pain to my brain as a warning.
But then there are night when I am calm. When noting can disturb me. I listen to the machines hum, and let their tnues lul me to sleep a place where nobody can follow.