Arriving Somewhere, But Not Here by Hillary L.

I stood in the intensive care unit, looking at my lifeless body lying on the stretcher in the white room. The doctors and their nurses were moving about the room, stuck in fast forward, as they went from evaluations, to tests, to medications to keep me breathing. Inhale. Exhale. The heart monitor thumped slowly, and after every thump, I was sure it would stop. Where I stood in obscurity, they seemed to not see me, as if I was a figment of my own imagination, and I was. I walked out of the unit, and went to the waiting room. There, I saw my family; they were lifeless as I was, with their clouded eyes, and sorrowful expressions. My mother was weeping silently into my father’s shoulder.

The heavy rain beat down on my new car; I thought the rain was going to dent its new frame. The sky was black, and I could see the moon straining to shine behind the ominous rain clouds. I pulled over on the side of the road, because my thoughts were intoxicating me, making my driving ability impaired. Arriving somewhere, but not here. I felt outraged towards my mother all the times we fought over little nothings. She was my reason for leaving. I just needed to let go of my breath I’ve been holding for so long. Exhale. My resting body jumped out of the driver’s seat, and I felt a violent pain shoot through my bones. I was hit.

My life flashed before me. I saw everything I loved, or had cherished throughout my years. It was as though all the old home movies we took at all the important occasions were playing back in my mind. I knew then that I was scared that I was going to die, but I wasn’t ready. My mind screamed for help, but my mouth couldn’t omit a sound. I struggled to hold onto my place on this earth, but got increasingly tired, and lost my consciousness.


My body was drawn to the site of the accident. Police cars lined up at the crash site and were looking over the wreckage. My skin sent a message to my body asking, ‘ever have the feeling you’ve been here before?’ The ground was glittered with a thousand pieces of broken glass. I saw a crimson color stain the grass and pavement underneath my feet, and I felt weak and cold. Another pull on my invisible bones dragged me back to the dreary white hospital. I was ready to come back. I opened up my eyes and sat up, I didn’t want these doctors poking me with their instruments, I wanted to be left alone, I wanted to sleep, I wanted to go home.


The last thing I knew before I faded out was a song. It was quiet and consistently grew louder. Instrumental pieces calming me, warming my deathly cold body, and I knew I was where I belonged, and I had arrived just on time.