Lullaby of Life
Written for Australian Writers’ Centre’s November 2019 Furious Fiction challenge.
by Darcie T. Kelly
Sure end, when tires squeal and glass shatters. Slicing pain followed by extending warmth. The world darkens, an unexpected eclipse. Then nothing.
***
There were eleven distinct voices whispering in the room, each more concerned with their rank in the group than with the patient they discussed. I’d been struggling to keep my spirits up, to not let my dire situation define me. I’d overcome so much in my short life. I would power through this as well.
The rush of their words drowned me, washed away all hope. I failed to squeeze the hand that held mine. Fought to see the world disappear in a blur of building tears. To feel the cold trails they would leave on my cheeks. As the termination of my life was discussed a hand’s breadth away, I was silent, still, trapped in a web of severed neuro paths.
***
The heart monitor is a metronome, counting the final beats of my life. My family is assured I won’t feel a thing. That I’m not in my body any more – brain dead they call it. Perhaps they’re right. Perhaps my brain is dead. My body-spirt connection severed. Perhaps only my stubbornness keeps me here. Ties me to them. Traps me.
My mother whimpers. My father consoles. My doctor excuses himself, leaves the room. My husband whispers in my ear, recalls our greatest hits. All except one. All except the crash.
As the drugs tug at my tenuous grip, panic unexpectedly sets in. What the hell is going on? Why are they doing this to me? If there really is no hope why am I still here? Why can I feel my mother’s tears falling on my hand like a cool spring rain? Why can I hear the gradual slowing of the beep … beep …
That mechanical music.
That lullaby of life.
That ebb … that flow …
… beep … beep
Dad lifts me onto the back of a horse, so high off the ground, and holds my hand as the animal walks gentle circles around the track.
Mom hugs me. I push away but she holds on until I surrender. She strokes my back until the hurt of my first heartbreak lessens.
I fumble through my vows, giggle with excited embarrassment, restrain myself from kissing him too early.
We talk about the future. The home we’ll live in. The children we’ll raise. The life we’ll share.
I want to shake my head. Shake that future loose. I signed an NDR years ago, when accidents and death only happened to other people. My family knows my wishes. My organs will be donated. My memory, not my life, will be preserved.
A final note endures.