Tag: Writing

Sorry for the delay again! I was super busy with school this week, so I didn’t have much time to write. In case you’re new, this a part two to a story I have put in a previous post. Read it in my February Monthly Recap.

“How much longer, doctor? When will she wake up?”

“It depends. It could be in the next few days, or weeks from now. It will probably be a few days. I’d be surprised if she woke up either today or tomorrow.”

“Weeks?”

Two male voices, one that was strangely familiar and one that I was sure I had never heard before talked back and forth. They kept fading, so I wasn’t really sure if I was hearing them right.

Someone sighed heavily, and the silence that followed was deafening.

I thought about trying to let them know that I was awake, but I was afraid. Afraid of the pain. How hard had I fallen? Had I broken anything? Was Chester ok?

That was the thought that made me realize I had to try to wake up. I braced myself for pain and forced my eyes open. The light above me shone right in my eyes so I squeezed them shut again and groaned.

“Don’t move,” warned the unfamiliar voice, “just sit still. Hang on, sweetheart. Let me get you some water.”

How had he known? My mouth felt so dry I was sure I wouldn’t be able to even open it.

Someone pressed a glass against my lips and gently pulled my them apart, allowing the water to rush in.

“Slowly! Just a little at a time,” said the same man that had warned me not to move. After I had had enough water, he said, “Alright, you can open your eyes, but give them time to adjust.”

I slowly opened my eyes a crack. Then, after a second, I slowly opened them all the way. It was Derrek who had given me the water. He stood beside the bed I was laying on, holding an empty glass. His blue eyes were clouded with worry and concern, and his hair wasn’t carefully styled like usual. “You’re awake.” He looked like he was in shock.

“I am. Where are we?” I squinted as I looked around. Then it dawned on me. We were in the hospital. And I was the one laying in the hospital bed. “How long have I been out?”

“Six weeks.” There was a cold tone in Derrek’s voice, as if he was mad.

I swallowed. Then I remembered why I was here in the first place and sat up quickly. “Where’s Chester? What happened? Is he ok? What-“

“He’s fine!” Derrek snapped as he slammed the cup onto the small table beside my bed. Then he turned and stalked out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

I turned to the other man. He was obviously the doctor. He was wearing a white coat, a blue collared-shirt, and black pants. He frowned.

I frowned back. “What’s wrong with him?”

“I suppose it’s just been a rough few weeks. What about you? What did you feel when you sat up?” He was now sitting at the computer sitting on a table against the wall, typing.

“Pain. A lot of it.” I winced. “My chest feels like it’s about to burst, it feels like my leg’s been cut off, and I’m sure my head is . . . well, I’m kind of dizzy and nauseous.”

He nodded. “Ok. Want to see you mom?”

“Sure.” This was going to be interesting. Hopefully it would go better than it had with Derrek.

The man left the room and, several minutes later, returned with Mom.

“Oh, honey!” she wailed as she ran forward to give me a hug. But the doctor put his hand out to stop her.

“I said no hugging!” he hissed.

She didn’t answer. She was busy weeping into her hands, unable to speak.

Her short blond hair was sticking out everywhere, her clothes were rumpled, and it looked like she hadn’t washed her face in days. That was saying something. Mom was a model, so she always looked perfect. My injuries must be pretty bad. The thought turned my stomach. I cautiously cleared my throat.

“Mom, why don’t you go sit outside for a while and calm down while I talk to,” I paused and squinted to see his name tag, “while I talk to Doctor Smith. Please?”

She nodded miserably and, still sniffling and crying, turned to leave.

When the door had shut, I asked, “What are my injuries?”

Doctor Smith picked up his clipboard. “Two cracked ribs, serious head concussion, and a severely broken leg.”

I winced. “And I’ve been in a coma for six weeks?”

He nodded grimly.

I sighed and leaned back against the pillows. “Do you know anything about Chester?”

He waited several seconds to answer. “I think I’ll let your dad answer that,” he said as he turned back to the computer and began typing again. “It’s nothing serious,” he added quickly when I sat up. “He’ll be ok.”

“I want to talk to my dad,” I said as I crossed my arms across my chest and glared at him.

He pursed his lips together and said, “Fine.”

He left the room and returned a few minutes later with Dad.

Dad came and sat on the end of my bed, his green eyes glistening with tears. “Hey, honey,” he said as he took my hand. “How are you feeling today?”

“Fine.” I took my hand away and crossed my arms again. “What’s wrong with Chester? He,” I paused to turn and glare at Doctor Smith, “wouldn’t tell me.”

Dad sighed and ran a hand down his face. “He . . . he broke his leg, just like you.”

I frowned as my heart began to pound. “I’ll still be able to ride him in races, right?”

He sighed again and waited several seconds to answer. “The vet isn’t sure yet. We’ll have to see how well he recovers. He doesn’t have much hope.”

“No, he’ll be fine; I know he will!” I couldn’t stop the tears from coming. I couldn’t hold back the huge sobs. For several minutes, I cried as Dad rubbed my back.

When I stopped, he said, “I’m sure he’ll be fine. He’s a fighter.”

I sank back against the pillows and sighed. Within seconds, I was fast asleep.

Thanks for reading! Happy writing!

A soft answer turns away wrath, but a harsh word stirs up anger. (Proverbs 15:1 ESV)