Pain Rate

My attempt at writing again. Ignore my other stories except Not a Blondie, No Blue Eyes.
----

Can you hear that?

It's the sound of demons craving for human flesh. Souls are burned, bones turned to ashes, lives are wasted, and nobody cares.
------

'Let's be friends.'

... These memories.

'Hey, Dominique! Come join me!'

... So nostalgic... This feeling...

'Hehe, this popsicle tastes like the rainbow!'

I'm clutching my shirt too firmly. My heart's racing, my head's pounding, and I have the most absurd urge to rip off my head and scream.

'Come on! The haunted house is that way!'

That melodious voice, so soothing... I want to hold that person in my arms and never let go.

'Look! A shooting star! Come quick! Let's make a wish!'

Because, she is the only one in the world who can make me feel this way.

'Dominique...'

I can only imagine my arms holding her warm body tightly, begging to God this warm feeling in my chest wouldn't go away.

"Yes?"

I murmured the words, fooling myself into believing she really was there, in my arms, whispering sweet nothings into my ear.

'I love you.'
----

I woke up with a start, screaming, my tear soaked face feeling damp and moist from crying. My hands reached for my eyes on instinct, tugging at the blindfold. I heard the door unlock and light footsteps walking towards me. I knew that the man beside me was my doctor, and in his hand was a syringe, from what I could see through the thin material covering my eyes.

"Calm down, Dominique!"

Calm down?! CALM DOWN?! My fiery raged and I could feel the sharp needle pricking my skin, drawing a little blood. I didn't give a shit about biting my bottom lip like I did a year ago when I was first sent here. I am not a timid boy anymore, doctor.

As soon as I felt the syringe being pulled away, I clawed at the material of the man's lab coat, ripping it off with my bare hands.

"GET OUT, BASTARD! EVERYONE OF YOU WORKING IN THIS GOD DAMNED HOSPITAL, LEAVE! FOOLS! ALL OF YOU!"

The stinging subsided after my rant, and I could hear quick and loud footsteps running away. The door was slammed, and I laid back down, huffing.

"Not the same damn dream..."
-----

 

------
*One year ago*

Those excruciating moments. Waiting. Day by day, dusk till dawn, that was how it always went. Waiting. Sitting on the overly polished hospital bench, glancing and turning her head behind her shoulder to see if he'd wake up, but to no avail. Was it that hard to keep up with him?

The melodious voice calling for him kept drifting away at some point, taunting him, tempting him. It was ludicrous, insanity pulling him against his own will into eternal darkness. He yearned to be reunited with his lover.

The girl always seemed to worry. Sitting impatiently, tapping her foot and humming furiously while drumming her long, slender fingers on the seat. One day. One day, he'll have nobody to visit him in the hospital, nobody sitting on the bench in the dingy, dimly lighted, and eerie hallway for hours and hours. Nobody.

Painful moments seem to pass by without her even noticing. Occasionally, she'd yawn or shut her eyes for an extended period of time, praying, hoping, begging. Pitiful displays of affection, really. Have humanity's standards stooped so low as to show love in such a pathetic way?

Cowards.

Her legs were crossed, her long dark tresses covering her moist face. The doctors have given her permission to walk in. I guess heartbreak has its own way to deal with people.

She didn't dare walk in and break down into tears, seeing him in that state.

Listening to his heart rate was enough.

The beeping, sometimes slowing down, sometimes going fast. Today, however, it just seemed to beep averagely. No signs of waking up. Her sighs seem to echo, with no one nearby to coax or calm her down.

Is this what'll be like, four years later? A young woman, wasting her life watching over a lover when she could do so much more?
-----

*Five months later*

"Miss, I'm terribly sorry, but it seems as though we'll have to pull the plug on him."

Devious. That's what humans are. Sprouting lies on the tip of their tongue, like making excuses were part of their nature.

The man holding a clipboard put on a grim expression, all part of his temporary façade. Triggering exasperated features on her face, too.
----

Update later. .-.