The Coma

This was an exercise from "Writer's Digest". Write from the perspective of someone in a coma. It is a story about sensory deprivation, helplessness, identity and self. I loved this idea and wrote this in about 10 minutes. Enjoy!

I hear muffled sounds, like someone yelling underwater. Voices reach my ears but they sound distant and faded and it is hard to make out what they are saying. Part of me doesn't care, I just want to fall asleep again, drift off into the blackness where there is no noise and no pain.

I don't know where I am or why I can't move my arm. I want to, but it just won't move on it's own accord. There is a pinching sensation in my hand, and ice is flowing through my veins. My eyes cannot open, although the desire has long left to even try.

Once again, the voices pick up their conversation, soft and low, tempting me back into oblivion. One voice is soft and feminine, and the sound to me is the colour of soft pink clouds and velvet. I don't think in words anymore, but in colours and texture. The voices mean nothing yet mean everything.

There is an undercurrent of sadness which carries the scent of salty tears. My sense of smell is heightened although I no longer know what a smell is. The darkness that gapes behind me once more beckons to me and reaches out it's oily tendrils. If I turn around now, I will be consumed forever. I welcome it, but the sounds and smells and colours are tempting me to stay awhile yet.

Time does not exist, I have been this way forever yet not at all. My identity is in the darkness, in the smells and the sounds and the salty tears. I am the tears but I can't remember why.

Whispered words tickle my ear, velvety wind the colour of pink invades the darkness, yet it is urging me towards it. I am torn between the peaceful black and the soft safety of pink. Both will welcome me with open arms, yet I wait here in limbo.

There is a choice to be made now. The pain in my hand lessens, the ice stops flowing and my blood becomes warm again, hot even. It burns like the glowing red embers of a dying fire. Dying. Is that what the darkness is? The pink fades away, taking its tears and sadness with it and leaving me alone again. I have finally understood that it is time to decide. I turn around to face the dark and am surprised to find that it is not darkness after all. It is a brilliant light, so golden bright that it had been blinding me.

I walk into it for the final time and remember everything.