Isolated. Alone. Trapped inside my own head. The world goes on without me. I lay in this bed. Unable to move. Unable to speak. Yet I hear. I see. The buzzes of the florescent lights. The faint mechanics of the elevator. The rush of stale air that races past my ears when moved to a new room. The hum of my machines. My shallow breath. It reminds me of what’s outside these doors. My old life. My old family. How long have I been like this? How long have I been here? I can’t remember the last visitor I had. I can’t remember the last time…That’s it. I’m breaking out. I’ve had enough. I had a life — even if it’s gone, I’ll start anew. I’ll go back home. I’ll unpack my boxes. I will dig out Susurrus’ self-titled. It will remind me of this. It will make me strong. It won’t let atrophy win. It won’t let solitude win. It won’t let death win. I’m moving my arms. I’m moving my legs. I’m unplugging these machines. I’m walking out the door. I’m passing the nurse’s station. I’m taking the elevator. It’s louder than I imagined. I’m falling to the floor. I hear the sirens. The buzz is dying down. It’s growing quiet. Alone. Isolated. At peace.
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