Rob felt the cotton sheets against his naked chest, their smooth starchiness in sharp contrast with the itchy, prickly woollen blanket where his hands lay.

An antiseptic smell took its turn to grab his attention, then warmth against his cheek. Something dripped onto his lip and slowly filtered through to his tongue, the salty taste tantalising in its richness. A sob from somewhere close by. Breath on his cheek.

Beep!… Beep! … Beep! The sound grated, an assault on his eardrums, like smashing glass…

“Too loud! Somebody turn that bloody racket down!” He tried to shout, then

“That’s odd? I can't hear my voice?”

He tried opening his eyes, but for some reason they too seemed not to work.

“What the hell!”

The pieces started to fit, the starched sheets, the smell, the sounds, the catch at the back of his throat that MUST be a nasal drip. Hospital?

“Hello! What happened? Why am I here?"

again silence where his voice should have been.

Then the sound of movement and voices, muffled until now, came crashing into clarity. A touch on his face, then another; a young, tired voice intoned

“Eyes fixed and dilated, EEG shows no activity”,

Then another, older voice...

“I’m terribly sorry Mrs. Collins, we’ve done all we can for your son. With no discernible brain function, the ventilator’s all that’s been keeping him alive. There’s nothing more we can do."

A badly stifled sob followed by the sound of tissues being pulled from their box. Another sob followed, then the older voice continued,

"Can I have your permission to switch it off?"

“Oh dear God....

No!

I'm here!

I’m alive!

Someone!

Anyone!

Mum!

Say No!

Please?”

“Yes… of course... thank you for all you tried to do for him…”

CLICK

and his senses,
one by one,
slowly,
faded,
away.

BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP!