Out of Time
You open your eyes and the hospital room appears in front of you. Your gown isn't wet and it's not like you were gone at all. You hear sounds behind you. You look around the room, desperately looking for a place to hide. You see a long red curtain hanging onto the window. You run faster than you ever have before and hide behind it. You forget that you're a ghost and whoever's coming won't be able to see you.
The door to the room squeaks open. The room fills with the sound of click-clacking heels and various pairs of sneakers walking across the floor. You nervously look from the curtain, seeing your family standing at your bedside. Your mother wears a old-fashioned black overcoat and heels, while your father is wearing a coat and tie. They look exhausted. You snap your fingers. Your parents don't even flinch. Not even they can hear you in here. You walk over to the side table and sit down.
Your mother's hand brushes through your limp hair, "Wake up, Amara," she whispers, tears running down her face.
"Jane," your father attempts to soothe her.
"She can hear me, Frank, I swear it!" Your father doesn't respond as your mother cries loudly. "I know you don't want to wake up and you have no reason to, but you have to." She breathes, her words growing more desperate with the second. "I need my daughter back. I won't let them take you!" She takes a minute to cry again, your father rubbing her shoulder. You wish you tell them that you're trapped. That you could reassure them that you're okay, but you know there's no point, they'll never hear you anyway.
"Wake up, Amara. this can't be how your story ends." Getting more hysterical by the second, your mother runs from the room, and your father quickly follows.
What could she have possibly meant by that? The white light flashes again.
The door to the room squeaks open. The room fills with the sound of click-clacking heels and various pairs of sneakers walking across the floor. You nervously look from the curtain, seeing your family standing at your bedside. Your mother wears a old-fashioned black overcoat and heels, while your father is wearing a coat and tie. They look exhausted. You snap your fingers. Your parents don't even flinch. Not even they can hear you in here. You walk over to the side table and sit down.
Your mother's hand brushes through your limp hair, "Wake up, Amara," she whispers, tears running down her face.
"Jane," your father attempts to soothe her.
"She can hear me, Frank, I swear it!" Your father doesn't respond as your mother cries loudly. "I know you don't want to wake up and you have no reason to, but you have to." She breathes, her words growing more desperate with the second. "I need my daughter back. I won't let them take you!" She takes a minute to cry again, your father rubbing her shoulder. You wish you tell them that you're trapped. That you could reassure them that you're okay, but you know there's no point, they'll never hear you anyway.
"Wake up, Amara. this can't be how your story ends." Getting more hysterical by the second, your mother runs from the room, and your father quickly follows.
What could she have possibly meant by that? The white light flashes again.