Rot

It's definitely spreading. Right here, see? It used to be two islands separated by a sea of rash. Now it's one gigantic crater. I thought I was white. Who knew purple, gray, and orange coexist under my skin. Oh, great, here comes that lousy nurse. Do your worst you–oh fuck, my arm! Stop spraying that shit on me you fuckin’... I wish I could bite your fingers off.

Oh what's this? Flip me on my side so it would heal? A little massage, maybe a hot and cold bath; that will heal it, sure. Christ, I wish I could shout in your bloated face. It's too late. You should have done that before my flesh melted away. For the past three weeks, you did nothing but stick me with needles. Left me soaking in my filth. Not once did you feed me. Don't get me wrong, I wanna die, but in case you didn't know, the new girl pours slop down my tube daily.

She talks to me, says I'll get better. She props me up and rolls me to the window. The sunlight feels so nice on my lips. The poor girl holds my head up the whole time. She even turns it gently to either side whenever a woodpecker or squirrel is in sight.

I remember waking up in darkness. I could hear machines and voices, but I was blind. I sat like that for three days. I couldn't move a muscle. The nausea and headaches were torture, thanks to the anesthetics flushing out of me. On the fourth day, the surgeon flashed his light in my eyes. Daggers pierced my very essence but goddammit was I glad to be out of the dark. Ever since that day my eyes stayed open, staring blankly at whatever was in front of me. For most of the time my arm was the only thing I could see.

It's strange how you get used to the most sickening sights imaginable: watching skin slowly rot away. It was the saddest thing I had ever lived through. Tears soaked my pillow every day. But a new girl, Daria, looked after me shortly after. She made sure my stitching stayed dry. I don't know how much they cut away. She never told me. Daria stayed clear of mirrors and took extra care so I wouldn't see my reflection in the windows. She propped my head so I couldn't look at it anymore. Sweet kid, I hope she'll live a good life.

Don't close my eyes! Open them back after you clean them. Hey, what's wrong with you?! Where the hell are you going? Don't walk away. Please, I don't want to go back to the dark. Don't leave me like this, it's hard to breathe lying on my side. Anyone there? Can't you hear the machines? I can't breathe. The doctor said…my light reflex…

Thank you, that's much better. It's a miracle you came along, Daria, or I would have been a goner. It was that ogre, I recognized her bear-grip. Oh, you look beautiful today, did you change your hair? Are we going for a walk? I thought we're heading outside. What's on the sixth floor? This room looks like something I would draw. I recognize you; you're the surgeon, the neurology guy. Hey, thanks for helping me not die and stuff. So…what's up?

A helmet? So, basically, you wanna put this thing on my head–oh, I guess we're doing this. This feels trippy as hell…

“Hello, can you hear me?"

“Yes, yes I can! Daria, is that you?"

“Haha, doctor it worked! I can speak to him, he can hear me.”

"I hear you loud and clear. What about you?”

"Loud and clear as well. This is amazing! I hardly recognize you dressed up so nice.”

"Dressed up? You can see me? I can't see anything."

“Hold on, the doctor's trying something. Alright, what about now?"

“I can't believe it. It's you! How is this possible? Why am I wearing a suit?"

“It's in development, a new approach to neuroscience. This is something the doctor calls residual imagining. That's why you look like this, the memory is embedded in your subconscious.”

"Is it now?”

"Haha, I don't know, I'm the nurse, remember? I'm so happy to hear your voice. Come, sit next to me. Try and walk.”

"I'm dead and this is Heaven, right? You never came to flip me and I suffocated."

“You're a smart guy. What did you say you do for work?"

“I'm a cartoonist."

“That's funny. Come, sit next to me. Take in the view."

“It feels so weird to move again. So, am I dead?”

"You're not dead. This is a medical facility and you're in an experimental program. Feeling better?”

"Not really. I still don't believe you. But the view is spectacular!”

"Isn't it? Can you draw it like this? I think it's the least you can do for me, seeing as I gave you a sponge bath every day for the past month or so.”

“Do I wish for it or what? How do I conjure a pen and paper? How does this work?”

"No, I mean in the real world. Can you draw this beautiful thing you see now, in the real world, when you recover? Will you remember any of it?”

“Of course, such beauty is rare to come by. And thank you, for the baths, caring for me, and such. I really appreciate it. How long can we stay here?"

“I don't know, you're the first patient to go through it. Do you want to stop?"

“Never. I wish I could heal my body just by staying here, with you."

“Well, there will be plenty of sessions before you heal. Your mind is whole, that's what matters. I'll tend to your body.”

"Can I get another sponge bath later?”

“I've already told you: this isn't Heaven.”

"I promise to draw by the end of the month."

"I’ll make it extra foamy.”