Forbidden Doctor - R. S. Elliot Page 0,58

lightning. It seared the nerve endings I didn’t know still existed, and I gasped, gasped through the pain and waited for it to die down. There was something in my throat; it blocked out every other sensation and I gagged, I gagged, and I wanted someone to breathe air into my lungs. It wasn’t comfortable anymore. Where were the voices? Where were they? Why couldn’t they save me?

I tried to yell for help, to tell the people that I wanted to come out of the darkness, but there was no answer, no lifeguard to drag me from the murky depths of my own mind, and I began to feel hopeless.

The darkness had changed.

There were barriers. I couldn’t head too far in any one direction, couldn’t swim aimlessly, because sooner or later, I’d reach some wall, some memory that stopped me from moving forward. I tried touching the memories, they might be the key to leaving, but day after day, I was losing who I was.

I thought the darkness reminded me of something, something to do with water and drowning, but I couldn’t remember the face or the voice of the woman that accompanied the recollection.

I was a doctor. I was pretty sure because medical terms kept coming to mind, but I couldn’t remember becoming a doctor.

Maybe it was just the voices?

They were louder these days. They spoke words into my ears about someone. Someone that was clearly very unwell. They said the patient was in a coma, and that it was up to the patient when they woke up.

If it were my patient, I would have tried to speak to them.

I would have told them exactly what was going wrong and how they could help themselves, but I couldn’t do anything because I was less than the concept of nothing.

I was only a thought, beating against useless memories and clinging to the words of one of the people that spoke.

I was pretty sure it was a man, and the way he said “I love you” with such tenderness and longing made me wish I could respond. I didn’t know who they loved, but I knew they needed to hear it back. No one should love that intensely and not have it returned.

If I thought about love too much, though, I got the most intense pain of all. There were red and yellow lights—and a little white man that I was waiting for.

Why was I waiting for a little white man? I would stand inside this memory and stare at the little white man, glowing on a sign, and there was something important. I was supposed to wait for him. But why would I wait for him when he was just a collection of lights on a small block? There were sounds around me, cars, horns blaring, and I knew, somehow, that soon there would be shouting, sirens, men and women in uniforms trying to save someone.

Instead of fighting the pain, I waited until I heard those words because they gave me strength and hope. They banished my fear of what might happen next.

“I love you.”

For the first time in the eternity since I’d been trapped in the darkness, I took a step, and another, and nothing blocked my way.

I was heading for the flashing man on the small sign.

I cracked my eyes open, and that action alone was one of the most intensely difficult things I’d ever done.

Immediately, they tried to slam shut, and I let them, but only for a moment. I had to keep opening them. Memories were coming back to me, everything I had said, and something happening that caused pain to explode, to burn in every one of my cells. I could feel those injuries very firmly set into my bones, but more than that, I could recall the part where I gave up.

I wasn’t dead, then. Being dead wasn’t supposed to hurt that much. Why had I given up fighting, only to end up in a hospital bed in pain?

I was a little confused, but I could recall that was normal. All my knowledge of who I was, and that I was somehow injured, came back to me, and I decided to take things slow—there was no point in panicking.

I tried to take stock of my injuries, to register what might have been injured, but I couldn’t focus on any one part of my body too long without feeling the darkness start to creep into the edges of my vision. Instead, I tried to look