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[Niall Hamilton]

Feedback is amazing by the way

Read in a .pdf with pictures and such here: http://www.mediafire.com/view/?15a11c8hnq9rx5i



I didn’t get much sleep last night.
This was pretty evident just looking at me (which I was desperately trying to hide) but a uncontrollable yawn gave me away.
Sighing, I rest my hand against my chin and lean against the bus window. My face itches, reminding me of the faint blonde stubble that had grown in place. Shame, seeming as I had only shaved a couple of days ago.
Yet, this was a constant reminder, among other things, that I was growing up. And, that soon, I wouldn’t be in highschool anymore and would indeed have to work.
Just the thought of it depressed me, and I decided to clear my mind by watching the scenery. However, the temperature outside had caused a mist, and made it pointless. Sighing, I rubbed a patch to get a clear look outside. The shops, lit up under neon lights, told me that I was close to my destination.
Pushing myself up from my knees, I press the stop button and get off the bus.
The wind hits me, hard, in the chest, reminding me that even though it’s January, winter is still very much around. The bitter cold strikes my throat as I inhale and I settle on moving as quickly as possible to get inside the warm.
Moving at a speed more close to a jog than a walk, I hurry down the snow-ridden street. In fact, all these stupid little thoughts are to distract me from one bigger more terrifying thought.
I plan to keep it that way, and itch my head to rid the thought. A lock of hair tickles my right eye, a reminder that I haven’t had my hair cut in a while. But it didn’t really bother me – I was getting used to it – and besides, she said…
“There I go ahead” I mutter to myself, momentarily stopping in the street. Both hands thrust into my coat pockets, I continue this mad march, shaking my head and sighing as I reflect on how stupid I can be at times.

c

When I arrived at the building, I had worked up a slight sweat and a uncomfortable heat under all my clothes. Too cold to take them off, but too hot to keep them on, I decide on the former, hoping my temperature would drop. “Only one of us needs a fever here” I say to nobody in particular.
Walking up to reception, I give her family’s name and I’m directed down a busy hallway to intensive care unit. The harsh cleaning equipment and smell of sterile medical resources wage war with my nose, making me slightly dizzy. If I spend much longer here, I might me the one needing treatment.
Eventually, we make it. The nurse gives a small nod and takes her leave, and for once, I’m stumped…This is, after all a personal matter, and even though I’m close to her, would I make trouble if I were to visit.
Too late for that. I’ve come all this way, turning back now would just defeat all the work done to make it here. Inhaling and exhaling deeply, I grab the door handle and push my way inside.
Inside the room is everything you would expect from a ICU department. The necessary machinery hooked up with complicated wires hooked around, weird tubes with clear liquids. Because it was night, the curtains were drawn, but not fully, so you could see it was still snowing outside. To the corner of the room lay a pot plant that was so unremarkable that it looked like its plastic counterparts.
However, it was the centre of the room that had drawn my attention. In fact, none of the previous information above had even clicked, because in that moment, I was solely focused on the girl lying on the bed with the life support and drip hooked up to her.
Her brunette hair was messy and tangled, strange to an eye that had seen it in a neat ponytail for the majority of its life. Her pale skin was portrayed slightly yellow due to the lighting of the room, but you could still make out her delicate features, like the smooth curves of her lips, hidden under her respiratory equipment or the subtle tip of her nose. She lay there, motionless, as if she was just a doll, however, if you concentrated hard enough, you could make out the slight breathing that she was having difficulty over. Yet this was the women I had come to adore over time, even if I hadn’t at first.
This sight urged me to run away. It was unpleasant. Well, I say so, but I feel as if the words fail me here, as they often do. The English language is really limited when it comes to describing ones emotions. We often exaggerated and over use some words, making it difficult for words to really have any impact. As a writer, a person trying to deliver my story to you, this is a problem, a challenge that I must overcome.
My thoughts refocus, and I look across the bed, to her parents. The mother is gripping her daughters hand and she’s looking at her, with a smile, despite the constant flow of tears down her face. It really is a juxtaposition. Her husband has a one arm around her waist, he head hung on her shoulder, the hair obscuring his face. Both are supporting each other at a moment like this. I doubt one of them would be able to stand here so easily and readily, but together, they seem strong enough. Just their presence eases me considerably.
I walk up to their daughter and brush her hair to once side, trying to be as gentle as possible. Even brushing her forehead, I feel the deep heat, the signs of a strong fever. “Kiyomi, I’m here.” I whisper, just about loud enough for me to hear.
She stirs, opening her eyes, revealing two hazel jewels, shrouded in a murky mist. She struggles to smile, turning out to be more of a char-grin than anything else. A mummer, which I suppose was my name or a greeting. It does really matter, at least she recognises me. I tilt my head and try my best to smile, although I can feel that it’s strained.
On the way here, her parents had told me everything that the doctors had told them. The result was that my thoughts became cluttered and they proceed to conjure up the worst case scenario. As an act of self-defence at these critical times, I would think up something completely pointless or unimportant, such as my hair, or the snow. It was this way I could keep sane.
Funny, then, how when I’m standing here, I can’t think out anything. My minds beautiful clear. Beautifully clear, or perhaps, beautifully numb. Nothing enters, and I’m left staring at Kiyomi. It takes a while for my mind to register and when I do, I’m left embarrassed, blushing.
This time she smiles properly, beaming, under that mask of hers. She opens her mouth and a forms a sentence, barely audible.
“Hey, can we hold hands?”


I grip her delicate fingers in mine, firm. The hand feels strangely cold compared to that of her forehead. It leaves me slightly in shock, so to recover, I grip even firmer. I just don’t want to let do.
I look back a Kiyomi, and she closed her eyes, looking extremely peaceful. To be honest, I could just stand there and lost track of time, stuck in this weird trance. I wish time would stop, only because I fear want it would bring.
Her breathing is shown by the condensation on her respiratory mask, and it’s constant, as if a little slow, maybe because she’s sleeping. However, she stirs and looks up at me again. This time, I see her lips move, barely, but no sound. Just, extra condensation forms on her mask, and I make out a “…you” from the whole sentence. I guess what she meant and mouth it back to her. This time, her smile is just there, and she closes her eyes, as if to rest for a weary battle. Her grip loosens, and the beeping of the heart rate machine, that was just background noise to me, becomes clearer, as it starts to descend.
The doctors arrive, suggesting that it would be better if they performed surgery now, while there was still a chance. From that point onwards, the only thing I focused on was the descending beeps of the heart monitor till it became one flat ominous tone.

c

Time had become a mess, which I was tangled in the middle. The ringing of that flat tone was constant in my eyes, even long after the machine had been turned off.
Both Kiyomi’s parents had been in to see their daughter, accepting the doctor’s apologises. They both came out in floods of tears, unable to hold back.
However, I was numb. The only thing I was aware of was that tone. Stumbling, I made my way into that room, and that’s when something inside me broke. It was like a glass hitting the floor and separating into thousands of shards, a piercing crash.
That low tone rose in pitch to a unbearable high, which stared its place with accompanying static. Yet, the tears would not come. People around me were talking to me, trying to comfort me, but all for loss, as I was unable to comprehend what they were saying. I decided to make my way home, having to drag my feet.
Why do I feel so heavy?
It still hadn’t stopped snowing, and it had accumulated to above a foot. The snow damped by boots till they were drenched and the same went for my jeans, but I couldn’t feel it. I just felt the extra weight. Snow gathered in my hair, my shoulders, as if I was to be slowly buried alive.
Was I sad?
No, I wasn’t sad. I wasn’t depressed. Yet again, I feel that the English language fails to represent how I feel, or should I say how I felt. Maybe I still feel like it now.
This is why I love music so much. Music can express emotions when words fail to. That why, I feel the music I play is how I feel, and my getting better at music, I can explain to people, how I truly feel.
I arrive home. I don’t drop my bag, or take off my shoes, therefore leaving a trail of muddy sludge as indication of my path. I make my way, passing the spare bedroom on the way. I stop, looking in the room, to an empty cot, which I had assembled that day. The packaging still lay on the flooring.
I continue, making my way to the shower room. I walk straight in, turn on the shower and collapse. I feel time slip and slide as water down my back, my chin, my throat.
I take out my phone and flick through past pictures and videos, until the battery gives way and the phone flickers, giving up its ghost. My grip becomes too slippery, and the phone slides out my hand and hits the ceramic bath hard.
Just then, everything sinks it, like a knife, to an already bruised and battered heart. I cough, inhaling water, but nothing stops me now. The static leaves, with just the sound of pouring water tapping on a leather coat. I felt immensely cold, so I curl up. And I sob. I couldn’t hold it back. I just hold myself and cry. I have no idea how long I was in there for. But I let everything out.
That night, I didn’t get much sleep either.

Edited by Niall Hamilton, 09 February 2013 - 10:37 PM.