Inpiration Monday – Borrowed Heart / Waiting to Live

Another Thursday, another story inspired by BeKindRewrite’s Inspiration Monday thread. This time I managed to get two of the prompts in, which is something I rarely do. It’s also quite a personal piece, because I had a condition a few years ago that made me have to fight for each painful breath. I’ve tried to capture something of that in this piece although with a different POV and a much more severe medical prognosis.

I’d love to hear what you think of it.

 

Catching Breath

If you’ve never watched someone you love fighting for breath, you can’t begin to imagine how it feels. You dare not drag your eyes away in case they lose the next battle, in case that rasping desperate sound is the last rasping desperate sound you ever hear. It doesn’t even occur to you that everyone else breathes quietly, or that the first time you heard that the troubled breathing you wanted never to hear it again.

But hope. That’s the thing. The greatest blessing of humanity, and sometimes its greatest curse. To go from hoping she’ll breathe normally again, to just hoping she’ll breathe again, to just… Hope without knowing what you’re hoping for.

And now I have a new hope and it’s almost too much to bear. She’s waiting to live again. Someone else’s hope died today, but sometimes hope is competitive and I can’t grieve for them when I think of the borrowed heart that will make her live. That will take her breath away and give it back a hundred times stronger. That will allow me to hope once more to hear the last of those desperate painful gasps.

You think I am selfish. That I should think of the dead and the grieving. That I should be grateful, humbled, sorry. But you’ve never watched someone you love fighting for breath; you can’t begin to imagine how it feels.

Inspiration Monday #3 – The Fall

Thanks to Inspiration Monday from BeKindRewrite, it’s time for another short piece. This time I used their phrase “Falling Up The Stairs” and I genuinely intended that to be what the piece was about, but somewhere along the way it morphed on me and I was left with it being about “Falling Upstairs” which is not really the same at all. Sorry!

Anyway, in addition, I’ve been reading about POV for narration, and one of the things that always crops up is the question of “Second Person” narrations (those which address the reader directly, as “you”). It’s something I could write an entire post about, and might sometime. For now, let’s just say I decided to use it for this piece. I’d love to hear how you feel about the story as a whole, and that aspect in particular.

The Fall

Whoops! You didn’t expect that, did you? Ha, no one expects the Spanish Inquisition, isn’t that what they say? Well, this was hardly an inquisition. Just a bit of embarrassment, and a sudden jolt of pain, I suppose I should be fair and give you that.

Yesterday, some kid at work head-butted the wall. Really hard. She looked a bit shocked but she didn’t cry. You’d think she would have, she was only three or four years old, and the way you cried out… Well, she didn’t. At least, not until after I had turned away. Didn’t want an audience, you see.

But you like an audience, don’t you, my dear? You like that your yelp brought me running. So quiet now? I suppose you have got your way, what else is there to say?

I’d have come anyway. I heard you falling upstairs from where I was, in the kitchen. Making you a nutritious lunch. But you called anyway. Had to be sure. Well, here I am. Dutiful wifey, at your bedside night and day, tending to your every need for – how long now? Two years? Wow, it feels like a lifetime.

Of course, you’re at your own bedside now. Maybe I should step over you and climb into your place. When you’re able to stand, you can make me something to eat and mix up my medications. I could lie here and groan occasionally, just to prove I’m still insisting on staying alive. But I won’t, will I?

Here, take my arm and we’ll get you back into the bed. I need you to help, dear, don’t just lie there floppy. Come on. What’s that on the carpet? It’s wet. Did you knock your drink? It’s dark like blackcurrant. But you had milk this morning, didn’t you? And it’s still there on the side. So what is the red?

Your head, honey. It’s on your hair. Oh my darling man. Are you OK? Talk to me! Talk to me!