Thin Line

           Perhaps the most horrifying thing about our reality is to learn that there are no unearthly terrors, no things that go bump in the night or feed upon our nightmares. Our evil isn't physical. Its debateable. No monsters, demons or vampires embody our fears. Real life is not so simple. We cannot merely take sword and stake and cross in hand to destroy the evils we face. Instead, we are hit by cars, fall down stairs, or, in my case, struck with illness.

These thoughts cross my mind as I look out my window to a bleak, sunless day. It is noon, but one would never guess by the grey sky and snowflakes, not even fighting to stay in heaven, drifting lazily down toward my purgatory. The ground is cold and dead, like I often feel, trapped in bed for weeks on end before getting a chance to interact with the world out there.

Books are my saints, fantasy my salvation. Boredom stalks me endlessly. It never tires, a noxious gas just waiting for my oxygen tank to run out so it can claim me. I have read so many varied books, but horror strikes me the most. Somehow I find myself longing to be in those worlds, fighting or fleeing Evil with a capital "E". I would even settle for being its victim. Instead I find myself dying slowly and excruciatingly in this sterile place. The white of the ceiling, the bedsheets and medical equipment is my enemy, and it is surrounding me.

Sometimes I find myself longing for the sweet release of death. It is in the moments that I shut my books, turn off the comforting background noise of the TV, close my eyes, and breathe. Perhaps that last step is my mistake, but each time I try to simulate death, I find it extremely boring.

This time, the loudspeaker interrupted my fantasy.
"Doctor Parson, please report to.."
Another soul in need of attention. I found it hard to care. Hard to do anything. I hoped sleep would come soon.

But instead, came family. Their visits were only surreal to me. Most of the time my mother came in with wet eyes, and my father always seemed to be looking past me, out the window, if he came at all. Each time I saw them, I thought they looked out of place in their black coats and bright shirts covered in the hair of our family. This world was white and sterile. These people did not belong. And they did not stay for long. Not anymore. After the routine "How are you feeling" question and answer session, my mother left. My father stared at me for mere seconds longer before he turned and left without a word. He never spoke during these things.

I spent the rest of the day wondering if they blamed themselves or just wanted to put up an appearance of loving me. I couldn't understand that emotion. It was too rooted in the world where blood raced and hearts sped. In my world, hearts were lucky if they twitched when not rooted to a machine.

Days pass in this place, or seconds. Impossible to tell which. The sun comes out and shines, making the white shine whiter. The enemy grows stronger. I can almost feel white fuzz creeping into the edge of my vision. It will overtake me. The sun goes down but I do not sleep. I cough blood into my water, but don't bother calling the nurse. Perhaps this time, sweet release will come for me at last. No point backing down or delaying it.

"Call the nurse."

A voice in my head speaks, but it isn't my own. Its softer than mine, much less bland and dull. It sounds concerned. I don't have that emotion, especially when it comes to myself. I barely have time to think if I'm going mad before the pale white curtain that grants me a shred of privacy from the doorway parts. A girl blocks my view of the doorway. Her skin is pale white, like that of my boredom, yet different somehow. Pure. Her hair contrasts this, darker than night, straight and shiny. It runs down the majority of her back and hangs over her shoulders, neat and tidy except the messy bangs that hang into her eyes. A bit of white shines through her hair on either side, the tips of her ears sticking out and breaking the black veil covering her head. Her eyes are icy blue, a color so light its hard to believe its real. Her brow is knit in concern, her lips, the color of peaches, curved down in a slight frown.

"Please. Call the nurse. Take care of yourself."

She steps closer to me and the air around me gets a degree colder. Most wouldn't have noticed this, but spending months in this sterile enviornment has made my body sensitive to changes. My hand involuntarily reaches out from its place at my side, as though to grasp her, but she is a few feet from my reach.

"Who are you?"

Her eyes widen, and a wave of emotion seems to surge through her. Panic? Joy? I cannot tell, emotions being so foreign to me. She steps a bit closer and holds out her hand, slowly, just as I am doing. Her fingertips brush my knuckles and I shiver.

"It'll be okay. Please, just call the nurse, I'll come see you again if you do. I promise. Please, don't let yourself die."

Her voice is shaky and sweet. I want to obey. My mind craves to know more about this visitor immediately, but I listen to her and press the red button on the side of my bed to call the nurse. The dull buzz passes through my ears and I pass out.


I awake with my mother standing over me, wringing her hands. When she realizes my eyes are open, I feel wet drops on my cheek...is she crying? Or am I? I can't tell, and it doesn't matter. Mother rushes to hug me but the doctor stops her when her arms brush my shoulders. She is warm and I am cold, and it burns softly even after she pulls away. I must be like a corpse to her, hardly able to respond to her affection. Not because my body cannot, but because my heart cannot. I can hardly comprehend her emotions. I can hardly comprehend anything. I feel rushed for once, instead of stuck in stasis.

I'm not sure I prefer the rush. My cheeks feel warm and wet again. The whole day passes with me staring at the ceiling. Even books and fantasy have lost my interest today, but I still find myself intrigued by the girl who appeared last night. I can't sleep or wake, and I feel hot inside all day, my skin still cold as ice and my organs made of lava. I may burst but I will probably melt silently away.

"Do you need to sleep?"

She calls to me again, the beautiful girl. She stands beside my mother, who still watches me apprehensively. I don't know how long its been since I woke up.

"Yes." I yell, but it comes out as a raspy breath, not even a word.

"Hang on a little longer. They might save you yet. One more night."

My mother does not notice the girl. But I can hardly notice my mother.

"I can't. Please, I want to sleep. I don't want to suffer. I don't want to watch them suffer." I think this as hard as I can, hoping it will come out. The girl steps closer to me.

"Then I will do as you wish."

She touches me, and for an instant, its like I imagined making love should feel. Not carnal, nothing like that..but silent and loud at the same time. A single gasp. A baby's first breath. A flower wilting. Its pleasureable, and painful.

I'm suddenly looking down on my mother. She cries, but I put a hand on her head and smile. For a second, she smiles too. I wave and watch her bottom lip quiver beautifully. I am free, and soon, she too will be free of my burden. Reality lets me go and I fade into white.

It is not my enemy.