I felt like I’d die. But as my blood stopped getting out and my sight returned, I knew it wasn’t coming that day. It’s a lil’ naïve, perhaps, to think everything will be fine as it ends, but that’s what he told me then, and I couldn’t avoid believing. He saved my life. I don’t know him, and I don’t even remember his name – even thought I remember it was written in the id on his chest in black and bold letters – but I trust him because he told me I’d live and I lived.
It’s been two weeks since the car accident and my lungs still work, as well as my fragile heart. The hospital is made of soft and light colors, dancing before my eyes, and I keep getting sicker and sicker. I dream while I’m awake. I dream of blood, and glass, and metal, and I scream and cry for help.
The doctor told me I was going to be okay, but my mother was crying last time she came. She held my hand and told me I’d be safe because she was there and she’d take care of me. She wanted to stay at night but I asked dad to take her home so I could be alone and he did it.
It’s all fine. I’m writing some letters I wish they’ll send when I’m gone, and I’m always happy – except when the fever and the visions come back, of course. When it’s all fine I’ll go, as the guy from the ambulance told me. Until then, I only have to wait. I’m excited and anxious. I keep telling myself this. Just a few days yet.