Dying

People say when you are about to die, your life flashes before you; and when you are falling from a tall building, you will be dead even before your body hit the ground. Neither of these, I find, is true.

The whole business of falling to one’s death is swift – a now you know it, now you don’t kind of thing. You won’t even realise it’s happening, and until you do, it is too late. Too late to save yourself, too late to scream, too late to think of anything else.

And just when you finally realise what is happening, everything goes black.

****

I opened my eyes slowly, tried to find the bit of memory in my fuzzy brain that explained what happened. The voices around me were hushed, and I couldn’t decipher what they were saying. I thought I heard sobbing in a distant, but couldn’t be sure.

The smell of the place reminded me Dettol and when my vision became clearer, I realised that I was lying on a bed. A chick who was dressed like a nurse hovered above me. When she saw me move, she hurriedly paged for the doctor. She was indeed, a nurse.

My head felt like a coconut that had been cracked open forcefully and drained of its’ liquid. I tried to lift it but it was either too heavy or too numb. I decided to stay put. Instead, I blinked several times, hoping my perfect vision would return. It failed. I groaned, lifted my hands to my head. I could feel that it was bandaged, probably an attempt to hold my cracked skull together again.

Using my brains seemed impossible.

“I guess you’re feeling good?” a voice broke my reverie.

A young man in a white robe, stethescope hung around his neck stood beside my bed. No need to guess who he was. I shook my head.

“You are lucky to be alive. And I am glad to see you awake finally,” he continued. I tilted my head, unable to understand what he meant. I realised that I had not recalled what happened. I wanted to go back to searching but the prickling pain was unbearable.

“Wh — wh — aat h-h-aap–hap–pened?” Words spilled out of my mouth like they were from a toddler learning how to speak. Although they were perfectly formed in my brain, they didn’t come out as smoothly as I intended them to be. Panic slowly crept into my insides.

“You can’t remember?”

I shook my head this time, not willing to risk words coming out of my mouth in single syllabus.

“Well, it is normal for some patients like you have some memory loss. You shouldn’t worry much, you’d be fine.”

What do you mean patients like me? What do you mean by memory loss? I screamed the words from inside my head.

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