Marlie moaned in her sleep, arms twitching, eyes watering, reliving the last moments of Chris’s life. She stared in horror at the Licking flames, reaching for him even as that terrifying force pushed her away. And then the pain slammed into her, leaving her flat and helpless on the concrete outside the cool night air snaked its salacious fingers beneath her clothes, and the shroud of darkness above her began its slow descent. She trashed about, trying to escape, but it came anyway enveloping her, wrapping its corners firmly over her mind, shutting out all light, all joy, all hope.
She awoke then, stifling a scream, realizing with some distant part of her mind that this was only a dream. Yet the terror and anguish lingered, a wound as raw and tender as the day it was first inflicted. It was an almost daily part of her life now, this nightmare. In the beginning she had been desperate for it to cease, feeling as if she were trapped in a time warp, destined to live those horrible moments over and over again, on into eternity. But in time she had come to accept it as her penance-that and the darkness that had moved in on that fateful night, making those final, horrifying moments the last images she would ever see.
She forced the tension from her body and struggled to reorient herself, but found her mind more muddled than usual. Something was different-the sounds, the smell, the coolness in the air. She began to tremble, her limbs shaking and twitching with a life of their own.
Then she felt a hand settle on her arm and heard a voice that was soothing, female, but unfamiliar. “Ms. Kaplan? The surgery is over. You’re in recovery”.
Marlie struggled to put a face with the voice, but failed. Tears of anguish and frustrations welled and she tried to blink them away, only to be momentarily puzzled by the obstructing weight on her lids. And then the words of the soothing voice sunk in.
The hospital. The surgery. The hope.
Oh god the hope.!
She felt a small tug at her arm and heard the ripping of a blood-pressure cuff. “Dr. Winslow said to tell you he’s very optimistic,” the nurse said.
Marlie thought she knew now what the weight on her eyes was. Fighting the drug-induced for that gripped her mind, she tried to remember what the doctor had told her to expect. “do I have bandages on my eyes?” she asked. Her throat was dry and raspy, almost as if the superheated air in her dream had been real.
“Yes” the voice told her. “Dr Wislow doesn’t want to try to use them until he can control the conditions. Since you’re the first person he’s ever performed this procedure on, he’s not sure how intense the visual input may be. Though we won’t know the final outcome until the bandages come off, Dr. Winslow say everything went well and the odds are about ninety percent that you’ll regain some vision. Just how much is the question.”
She awoke then, stifling a scream, realizing with some distant part of her mind that this was only a dream. Yet the terror and anguish lingered, a wound as raw and tender as the day it was first inflicted. It was an almost daily part of her life now, this nightmare. In the beginning she had been desperate for it to cease, feeling as if she were trapped in a time warp, destined to live those horrible moments over and over again, on into eternity. But in time she had come to accept it as her penance-that and the darkness that had moved in on that fateful night, making those final, horrifying moments the last images she would ever see.
She forced the tension from her body and struggled to reorient herself, but found her mind more muddled than usual. Something was different-the sounds, the smell, the coolness in the air. She began to tremble, her limbs shaking and twitching with a life of their own.
Then she felt a hand settle on her arm and heard a voice that was soothing, female, but unfamiliar. “Ms. Kaplan? The surgery is over. You’re in recovery”.
Marlie struggled to put a face with the voice, but failed. Tears of anguish and frustrations welled and she tried to blink them away, only to be momentarily puzzled by the obstructing weight on her lids. And then the words of the soothing voice sunk in.
The hospital. The surgery. The hope.
Oh god the hope.!
She felt a small tug at her arm and heard the ripping of a blood-pressure cuff. “Dr. Winslow said to tell you he’s very optimistic,” the nurse said.
Marlie thought she knew now what the weight on her eyes was. Fighting the drug-induced for that gripped her mind, she tried to remember what the doctor had told her to expect. “do I have bandages on my eyes?” she asked. Her throat was dry and raspy, almost as if the superheated air in her dream had been real.
“Yes” the voice told her. “Dr Wislow doesn’t want to try to use them until he can control the conditions. Since you’re the first person he’s ever performed this procedure on, he’s not sure how intense the visual input may be. Though we won’t know the final outcome until the bandages come off, Dr. Winslow say everything went well and the odds are about ninety percent that you’ll regain some vision. Just how much is the question.”
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