The Burning Wheel 7

You extend your hand to those who suffer
To those who know what it really feels like
To those who have had a taste
Like that means something
And oh so sick I am…..

Along the way I lose blood. I lose consciousness in and out of reality. There is the nothing when I am out. I was so fearful of it, the nothing. It was like everything stopped. There are flashes little bits and pieces, an oxygen mask, and a light in my eyes, hands checking things, the hands are warm. All of it accompanied by a hollow dull numbing yet burning feel, all I could say with all the blood in my mouth, down my throat, all I could say was that I felt cold.

Could I feel my legs? Yes. Could I wiggle my toes? Sure, wiggle, wiggle. Can I please grip this pencil, grip and gripping. Could I say my name? Shane….McCutcheon…maybe even a little joke of the Scottish intent, maybe Irish who really knows, certainly not me, not without any real blood line left in the world…no…..not me. They look at me like I’m not just dying; they look at me a little weird.

I don’t see her. But she was there. Answering questions. Was I a rebel? No. Did she shoot me? No. Then what the hell happened? Right then I knew, she would say nothing, she didn’t answer instead she spouted out some kind hidden code some don’t ask any fucking questions code and then came the nothing again. Like none of it even happened.

You’re going to be all right……….

I needed blood. A transfusion. And the cruel joke was that Carmen was my blood type. I had the fucking murdering cunt’s blood in me. I just laughed and laughed, then my stitches came undone, they used the words seepage, and re-suture, and I laughed when the antiseptic burned like the fires of earth, like the fires of my rage to want to make them all die. At some point I wasn’t laughing anymore. Instead I just stared at the wall behind the nurse, waited for them to leave and went to sleep.