What's it like to be in a dream that you know is real?
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  1. Please don't mind this for being in french. I just feel the need to rant and english isn't doing it for me.

    Même si je décris comment je sens, personne ne m'écoute. Mes amis sont tous obsédés avec l'idée de l'attention, d'être aimés par tout le monde, mais ils ne comprennent pas que pendant qu'ils font ça, ils perdent leur anciens amis.

    Il y en a qui essaient de nous fair croire qu'ils ne font pas ça par exprès, mais ce n'est pas la première fois. Et maintenant, je suis tanné. Emplement tanné.

    On avait un cercle. Tout le monde avait une place dans ce cercle, on partageait l'espace et on blaguait, on parlait. Maintenant c'est un terrible bataille pour essayer d'entrer dans ce "Cercle" qui est plutôt maintenant un carré malformé.

    Comme javais dit avant, emplement tanné.

    And that felt slightly better.
  2. “Blake!” Blake turned around swiftly, to see Alana’s mother waving him over, her face pale and her eyelids drooping.

    “Mrs. Flannigan! Are you alright?” asked Blake, giving her a reassuring hug.

    “She’s been in there for apparently almost an hour. I got called twenty minutes ago and the only person I’ve talked to is Dr. Kappa, who called you, right?”

    “Yeah, she’s the one. Do you have any idea what happened?”

    “The doctor said that they found her crushed under her motorcycle and that there was an overturned truck on the other side of the street and a bunch of other minor car crashes surrounding that. I’m pretty sure she was leaving Dane’s house,” said Mrs. Flannigan, tears forming in her eyes. “Come, I’ll bring you to the waiting room.”

    Nearly doing a double-take, Blake felt dizzy from realizing that what had happened was exactly what he had seen. Steadying himself on the closest wall, he followed Alana’s mother into the waiting room, where he father was pacing back and forth, shock clearly written across his face. He turned and saw Blake, a sad smile peeking out of the corner of his lips.

    “Blake, how are you?”

    “Pretty much as shocked as everyone else is I guess. I can’t help but feel that it’s my fault though…”

    “Don’t put pressure on yourself, it’s only an accident,” Mrs. Flannigan said, trying to take some un deserved guilt off Blake’s shoulders.

    “But I knew about the wind warnings, I should never have let her leave my place.”

    “Oh, Blake, I didn’t even know she was going over.” She gave Blake another hug, and he winced noticeably. “What’s wrong? Oh my goodness! What happened to your arm?”

    “Nothing as bad as what I think Alana’s going through…” Blake left it at that, and sat down on one of the chairs when a thought occurred to him. “Where’s Dane?”

    “We called him about half an hour ago. I think he should’ve been here by now, the road’s aren’t that bad,” Alana’s father said pointedly.

    At that moment they heard two people arguing down the hall, Blake jumped to his feet and peered around the corner, seeing Dane trying to be held back by a doctor.

    “My girlfriend’s in there!” he urged madly.

    “I don’t care, it’s family only down this hall!” the doctor said, his face reddening with frustration.

    “Doctor, it’s okay, let him come. I’m his girlfriend’s father, he should be here,” said Mr. Flannigan, more signs of stress creasing his brow.

    The doctor gave him a look of uncertainty, then shrugged and took off towards his own business as Dane walked slowly towards them.

    “Mr. and Mrs. Flannigan, Blake! How is she?” Dane asked, his dark brown eyes slightly dilated.

    “She’s in critical condition Dane. How the hell do you think she is?” Alana’s father said angrily.

    “Kevin, take it easy, you don’t need any more stress on you now,” said Mrs. Flannigan, softly rubbing her husband’s back and motioning for him to sit down. She gave Blake a pleading look, and sat down beside her husband.

    “Come on, we’ll get some fresh air Dane,” Blake said, motioning for the two of them to leave the parents alone.

    Dane nodded airily, and followed Blake down the hall and towards the elevator shaft. They went outside in silence, Blake realized that he was no longer shivering, and he looked up at the many hospital windows, wondering how Alana was doing. Dane had turned around, and he heard a faint click, and Dane toss his hand to his mouth, and then shove it in his pocket.

    “Dane, what are you doing?”

    “Hm? Oh, nothing, I was just yawning,” Dane replied, stepping ahead of Blake and heading back indoors. “I’m cold, I’m going back inside.”

    Blake shook his head, and followed Dane back indoors. As they went up the elevator, Blake heard the faint click sound again, and saw Dane swallow something this time. Fury building inside him, he thought of the image of Dane hitting Alana again. As they walked down the hall, Blake stopped Dane, and pushed him against the wall. Dane’s eyes were almost purely pupil and no iris, and he looked at Blake, uncomprehending.

    “Are you on drugs Dane?” Blake shouted angrily.

    “What the hell are you talking about man?” Dane said, pushing Blake back.

    “I just saw you swallow those pills twice within the last five minutes! What the hell are you doing?”

    “What the hell is it to you? My life is none of your business!”

    Blake turned around and clutched his hair with his left hand. Touching the string around his neck, he turned around and shoved Dane again. He hit the wall harder this time, and got winded from impact.

    “What do you think the doctor’s are going to say when they realize the bruises she has aren’t just from the crash. What then Dane?”

    “What are you implying?” Dane asked, standing up straight. He was a few inches taller than Blake, but that didn’t intimidate him.

    “You know what I’m implying. You think that you can just cover abuse with long sleeves and pants? What about the bruise on her face Dane? How many more car crashes does she need to have to cover up what you do?”

    “How the f*** do you know about that?” Dane yelled, the drugs finally taking effect on him.

    He took a swing at Blake, who dodged the blow and caught Dane’s fist instead. Pushing him back against the wall, he took a step back, holding his broken wrist that was now burning with pain.

    “What on earth’s going on here?” Mrs. Flannigan cried, coming out from the waiting room.

    “Yeah, what’s happening here Dane? Care to explain the bruises on her daughter?” Blake said furiously.

    “Blake? What’s wrong?” Alana’s mother asked shakily, her eyes darting between the two young men in front of her.

    “Nothing’s wrong Mrs. Flannigan,” Dane said impatiently.

    “Nothing’s wrong? Then why are you on drugs Dane? Why are you abusing their daughter? Why don’t you care about her being in the hospital as much as we do?”

    Dane cried out angrily, and swung at Blake again. The drugs were taking a stronger effect on him, making his motions sloppy and not as precise as they would’ve been. Blake punched Dane in the face, and Dane shouted in pain, clutching his cheek with one hand and swinging at Blake with the other. He missed where he wanted to hit, and hit Blake’s cast instead.
    Blinding pain flashed through Blake’s eyes, and he stumbled back a few feet.

    “Kevin! Kevin come here please!” Alana’s mother shouted, frightened, as more tears fell down her already tear-stained cheeks.

    “What’s wrong Sarah?” he said, coming out of the waiting room and seeing Blake and Dane glaring at each other furiously. Dane charged at Blake, who kicked Dane in the stomach. Dane doubled over onto the ground, a sign of giving up. A doctor came out of his office, hearing the ruckus, and rushed up to Dane who was wheezing on the ground.

    “What the hell happened?” he asked, staring up at Blake.

    “Dane there is currently drugged and lunged at me when I denounced him of abusing their daughter,” Blake said, pointing towards Alana’s parents.

    “What?!” roared Alana’s father. “Dane, get the hell out of my sight, now before I kill you.”

    “Sir, please calm down. He needs to be seen by a doctor, I think his cheekbone is broken.”

    “That’s the least of his worries now. Oh, I’m going to press charges on you so hard you won’t know what happened to the rest of your sorry life.”

    “Sir, please, calm down. If not for me then at least for your daughter and the other patients in this ICU wing.”

    “Don’t you bring my daughter into this!”

    “Mr. Flannigan, come on, we’ll go back into the waiting room, that way you won’t have to see him anymore, agreed?” Blake asked, holding
    Alana’s father back.

    He nodded, and turned around on his heel and clenched his fists as he tried to calm down. Mrs. Flannigan sobbed into her husband’s chest, and Blake caressed his arm and looked at his friend’s parents.

    “I’m really sorry, I hadn’t meant for it to get that much out of hand… Or for you to find out that way,” Blake said apologetically. They weren’t paying attention to him, too focused on the well-being of their daughter, now more guilt weighing down their shoulders.

    “Clear!” shouted a voice from inside the room.

    The three waiting outside patiently for Alana jumped upright, and Blake tried to calm himself down and not shake again.


    Silence followed the second shout, and Mrs. Flannigan bit her quivering lip as she dug her fingers into her husband’s arm, who was looking quite pale himself. Blake rose to walk towards them and console them, but stopped when a doctor came out of the room, trying not to cry herself. Blake sank back down in his chair, and Mrs. Flannigan sobbed even harder.

    “Estimated time of death, 2:19,” said a surgeon from inside the room.
  3. She sat down on the black leather arm chair that was place diagonally across from the couch, and waited for Blake to join her. Offering her a drink, she took a small sip, and then put it down on the glass coffee table in front of them.

    “So what happened?” she asked, not wanting to wait any longer.

    “Well, I took the bus as usual to the metro station, and I was a little late so as I ran out onto the platform I accidentally bumped into somebody who wanted to pick a fight and pushed me onto the tracks. I landed on my wrist,” he said, holding up the arm in the sling.
    Alana tried to interrupt him, but he held up his hand to silence her.

    “Then the subway train started coming,” Blake paused, wondering how everything had actually happened. “I managed to pull myself off the tracks and to the side, just barely avoiding it. Then when I got back on the platform, I collapsed and cracked my skull open on the concrete.”

    “Wait, what?! Someone just pushed you onto the tracks for bumping into them?” shouted
    Alana incredulously. “The important part is that you’re alright now, right?”

    “Yeah, I’m fine. The paramedics were helpful, and even if the doctor did seem to have the hots for a minor, she was nice,” replied Blake, taking a sip of his own drink.

    “Wow. I can’t believe that though. The odds of you not getting hit by the train are incredibly slim.”

    “Can I sign it?” Alana asked cheerily.

    “You really want to?” Blake asked, laughing. “Well, if you want.”

    He went into the kitchen and grabbed a few of his permanent markers from the junk drawer. He lay out the purple, blue, and black markers on the coffee table in front of her, and held out his arm, the plain white cast just asking to be defaced. She signed her name in the purple color, made highlights with the black, and put stars around it in blue.

    “All done! Now everyone else at school can sign it, but I was here first.”

    “You’re always there first,” Blake said, smiling. “What did Mrs. Rita have to say about my absence?”

    “Well, at first she didn’t believe me, of course, but by the end of class when you didn’t even show up late I think she accepted that it was true. Personally, she was probably hoping you’d be late to make you get another detention.”

    “Everyone always says that teachers don’t hold grudges against their students, but ever since that time I pointed out that her whole way of teaching was judgmental she’s had it out for me!”

    “You never did learn to keep your mouth shut,” said Alana with a grin.

    Blake grimaced, and stuck his tongue out at her. Offering her a second drink, Alana shook her head, and he brought both glasses back into the kitchen where he left them on the counter to put them in the dishwasher later.

    “How’re you and Dane doing?” he asked, walking back into the living room.

    “I guess we’re okay. He’s just getting restless because he’s ready to sleep with me but I’m not. It’s just frustrating, you know?” she asked, shrugging.

    “Yeah, I know what you mean. It’s hard, but you’ll both get over it,” said Blake with a comforting smile.

    Alana smiled sadly, and then sighed, shaking her head, making her hair mess up but still manage to stay nice. Her light brown eyes seemed to almost water up, but she looked away, pretending to be watching the news that was still running in the background. Blake took her hand in his, and turned her head to face him.

    “Don’t let things get this bad. You know I’m here for you. You’re practically my sister, you can tell me things, alright?” he said, trying to get a genuine smile out of her.

    She choked back a sob and laughed, wiping her eyes with her free hand. She leaned her head on Blake’s shoulder, and regained her composure within a few minutes. Her eyes were slightly red, and she pulled a tissue from her back pocket and quietly blew her nose as she calmed herself down. Alana looked at the time, and sighed heavily.

    “I think I should go, I still have to stop by Dane’s place to pick up my stuff and be home before curfew. The ‘rents decided that if Dane had a curfew, I should too,” she said, rolling her eyes.

    “Drive safely then, alright? It’s going to be dark by the time you end up getting home.”

    “Don’t worry, I’ve got my helmet and I don’t normally speed,” she said, forcing a grin. “See you tomorrow?”

    “Yeah, I might be at school, depends on how I feel,” replied Blake, looking down at his arm with a frown.

    Alana smiled, picked up her metallic red helmet off the ground, and then quietly left Blake’s apartment. As she walked down the hall, her eyes started to water again, but she let them fall silently as she decided what she would do next. A big part of her wanted her to stay with Dane and try to please him, but another, more convincing part of her reminded her that the bruise on her arm probably wouldn’t be the last and that it was better to just leave him.

    Blake walked over to his window, and sat down on the ledge, looking out at the road below him as he waited to make sure that Alana was safe, and that the image that coursed through his head was just that, an image, and nothing more. He saw her come to a stop at the intersection on her unmistakable black motorcycle, and a weight was lifted off him when she drove across safely out of view.

    Slowly getting off the window sill, he stretched his arm and glared at his now limited motioned arm. He went into the kitchen, and then opened the dishwasher and pulled open the top rack. Blake picked up his glass, and put it away, and then picked up Alana’s. He froze in place, and he could see Dane hitting Alana across the face vividly in his mind. As the image disappeared, Blake dropped the glass and it shattered across the floor.

    Shakily picking up the larger pieces, he breathed in deeply and exhaled slowly repetitively as he tried to calm himself down. He tried convincing himself that what he was seeing was just side effects of the pain killers, that since the first one hadn’t happened Dane hitting Alana wasn’t true, but saying it wasn’t true felt wrong.

    He stepped around the shattered glass, and went into the kitchen pantry and took out the small broom. As he swept away the pieces of broken glass into a neat pile, he sighed as he realized that he would have difficulty picking the pile up. Lightly taking hold of the broom and the dust pan in the other with the fingers that stuck out from the cast, he tried sweeping the pile onto the dust pan. The phone rang suddenly, breaking the silence in his apartment.

    Blake jumped and dropped the broom onto the ground, and stared at the phone, waiting for it to ring a second time.

    “Hello?” he said warily as he picked it up in the midst of its second ring.

    “Hello, this is Dr. Alice Kappa calling from the General Hospital. Are you Blake Farrell?”

    “Yeah, that’s me. What can I do for you?”

    “You need to come down here right away, it’s an emergency. Do you have a way of getting here?”

    “An emergency?” Blake asked. “Alana…?” he whispered softly when a sudden realization came across him.

    “She’s in critical condition and it said to contact you in case of emergency in her wallet. We’ve already contacted her family and they’re on the way.”

    “Can you send an ambulance or something to pick me up?” Blake asked, his voice shaking and his heart beating heavily.

    “That I can do. But I’ll need to know your address.”

    “3874 Celeste Apartments. I’ll be waiting outside the main lobby to make things easier.”

    “Thank you very much, someone will be over in an instant. I’m terribly sorry to have to call you so late.”

    “It’s fine, as long as I get there. Thanks,” he said as he hung up the phone.

    Blake grabbed the keys to his apartment off the counter beside him and rushed to the front door where he threw on his fake leather jacket and lazily laced his Converse Chucks. He locked the door and rushed down the stairs, not bothering to wait for the elevator and flung open the glass lobby doors leading outside.

    He shook nearly violently as he waited for the person to pick him up, partially because of the wind, but mostly because he knew that something was going to happen, and he didn’t bother trying to warn her. He cursed at himself out loud and kicked the stucco wall behind him.

    A police car swerved to a stop in front of the sidewalk, and Blake ran over to the car, the man motioning for him to come. Pulling open the front door, he jumped inside and did his seat belt up as the cop drove away.

    “We’ll be there in under five minutes,” he said, looking over at Blake who was still shaking. “are you okay, son?

    “Not really,” he said unnervingly. The man nodded, and didn’t question him further, the situation being none of his business.

    The car pulled into the familiar emergency parking, and Blake ran from the car, shouting a quick thanks to the police man who had driven him there. Rushing through the automatic doors, he dodged around a few doctors and nurses until he nearly collided with the front desk.

    “I’m looking for my friend Alana Flannigan, I’m pretty sure she’s in ICU. Dr. Alice Kappa called me and told me to come here. Can you tell me where she is?” Blake said in nearly one breath, his hands shaking as he placed them on the counter. Typing as quickly as she could, the secretary scanned the screen, looking for the room number that Alana was in.

    “She’s in room 378, third floor. She probably won’t be allowed to receive any visitors yet, but since you were called here it might be a different story,” the secretary said.

    “Thank you very much!”

    Blake took off, but this time at a fast walking pace, not wanting to seem rude or run into anybody else. An elevator door opened, letting someone off, and Blake stepped onto hit, urgently hitting the third floor button and waiting impatiently as it brought him slowly up to the floor. The doors opened, and he raced through the hallway, scanning for the room number.
  4. Dr. Pritchard handed Blake his medical form, and remembered that she had forgotten something in the cast room. She quietly entered the room, and returned with a black sling with white stitching for Blake to use to support his arm while it healed.

    “You’ll need to hand this in at the main desk, and then check yourself out so that you’re officially no longer under our supervision. Remember, if ever your head hurts enough to make you want to take pain killers, you should come back right away to have us take a second look at it.”

    “Thank you very much Dr. Pritchard,” said Blake.

    Blake took his cell phone out of his pocket, and the necklace fell out onto the ground. Reaching down to pick it up, a cold wave seemed to pass between his hand and the bead, and the image of him passing through the subway train flickered through his mind. Shaking his head, he picked up the cold metal and shoved it back into his pocket before flipping open his phone to find out the time. It was nearly nine, and Blake decided that it wasn’t worth going to school late after his exhilarating morning.

    He handed his medical report to the secretary, who filed it and disappeared into the back room. She produced a bottle of pain killers when she came back, and handed them to Blake with another instructional paper.

    “Don’t take more than on every twelve hours, and don’t take other medication while you’re on these. If pain continues while taking them, stop taking them and come back as soon as you can. And try to take it easy,” she said sweetly as though it was the first interesting thing that had happened all morning.

    “Thank you, I’ll try not to get pushed in front of anymore trains for a little while,” he said with a warm laugh.

    Blake took the stairs down towards the hospitals main entrance, and then looked around for the nearest bus booth that would take him back home. He noticed a bus booth with ‘three fifteen’ written on it, and was relieved to know that the bus was only at the end of the parking lot and not a few blocks away.

    He entered the bus booth and sat down on the cold plastic bench as he waited for the bus to show up. His cell phone rang on silent and vibrated in his pocket, and he flipped it open and pressed it to his ear.


    “Blake! Where are you? Mrs. Rita’s going to kill you if you miss another French class!”

    “Oh, hey Alana. Listen, I’ve been at the hospital all morning. Let her know that?”

    “Oh my god, what happened? Are you okay?” she asked frantically.

    “It’s quite a long story, but don’t worry, I’m fine. I’m on my way home now so I won’t be at school until tomorrow.”

    “Don’t scare me like that Blake! I can’t believe you, what happened?”

    “It’s nothing, believe me Alana. Listen, my bus is here, and you’re probably already late for class, I’ve got to go.”

    “Alright, but you’re not stopping me and Dane from coming over to see you tonight!”

    “Fine. Try not to spread rumors?” asked Blake hoping that she would listen.

    “Damn, fine. Okay. I’ll see you tonight!” said Alana before hanging up.

    The bus passed by, and Blake hopped on, finding that there was only one other person besides the bus driver and himself on the bus. Taking his usual spot near the back, he sat down comfortably as he waited for the thirty minute drive to be over. He could feel his arm throbbing in the cast, and wished for the effects of the pain killers to kick in quickly before the pain got worse.

    He saw the street sign of his apartment buildings flash by through the window, and pulled the chord signaling the bus driver to let him off at the next stop. He hopped off the bus, and held his arms closer to his body as a cold wind brushed past him. It was only the beginning of fall, but it was still getting cold, fast.

    He jogged the rest of the way to his apartment, and took the elevator up to the second floor as a headache appeared. Cursing himself for not taking it easy like he said he would, he lay down on the black couch he had in the living room and just took a moment to think over his “exciting” morning. Blake thought about the necklace, and pulled it out of the pocket, rolling the oddly designed bead between his forefinger and his thumb.

    The bead was an oval shape, and maybe an inch or so long. The designs looked almost Celtic, but they had an almost fire-like touch to them, flicking out like the tails of flames. Depending on the way he turned it, the bead’s designs would shine blue in the light that shone through the bigger window in the apartment.

    It suddenly got really cold, and he dropped it onto the ground, where the cord got tangled up even more. Rolling over onto his right side, Blake picked it up, and lay back down on his back. He couldn’t remember anyone ever wearing it, even his ex-girlfriend who wore a lot of weird, “exotic” jewelry. Fiddling with the cord, he managed to untangle it, and held it by the ends as he let it hang in front of him. He felt an urge to put it on, as though something was telling him, forcing him to do it.

    With difficulty, he placed it around his neck, using his right arm to hold it down as he worked fitfully with the clasp and tied it together. It was a perfect fit, it hung just under his Adam’s apple where the concave part of his neck was. It was colder than he thought it was, and he gasped unexpectedly. Several images flew across his mind; the subway train, him getting the molding on his arm done, him breaking his leg six years ago, and then finally an image of his best friend Alana, trapped under her motorcycle. Jumping upright, Blake coughed heavily and steadied himself on the arm rest of the couch.

    “What the hell…” he whispered to himself in confusion.

    He let his head fall into his hands, and then walked into the kitchen, pouring himself a glass of water. Taking out the pill bottle he had received at the hospital, he popped off the child proof cap and swallowed one of the pills with the glass of water. Even though he felt like taking another one to speed up the process, he didn’t feel like making another trip to the hospital.

    Blake thought back to the person who pushed him on the tracks in the first place, and scowled for not being able to remember much about him. The man was wearing a light grey sweatshirt with the hood up, and he had a deep voice with a southern twang to it. Disappointed that he couldn’t let the police know about him, he sat back down on the couch and turned on the television in hopes to pass the time.

    He fell asleep while watching a re-run of a show he could care less about, and fidgeted around, not able to find a comfortable position that wouldn’t be dangerous for his head. He could see Alana trapped under her red motorcycle again, but could see a truck turned over onto its side on the opposite side of the street, and more cars piled up on top of each other. Trying to push the image out of his head for a strong want of a good sleep, he gave up and just let himself wake up. The television was now showing the evening news, warning everyone that winds were picking up and to be careful outdoors.

    The house phone started ringing, and Blake slowly got to his feet and walked into the kitchen, messing up his hair with his good hand before answering the phone. Checking the caller ID, Blake didn’t recognize the number, and decided to answer it anyway.


    “Hi, my name is Anita Sherwood and I’m part of the health statistics for your community. We’re conducting a survey to insure that are statistics are still up to date. Are you the person that regularly does the groceries in your household?”

    Blake frowned in response, and opened his mouth to politely turn her down when the phone beeped, indicating someone on the other line.

    “I’m terribly sorry Ms. Sherwood, but I have somebody on the other line,” replied Blake, as he changed lines.


    “Hey Blake! Turns out Dane can’t come after all. He’s grounded from breaking curfew again, so it’s only me who’s going to come over. How’re you feeling?”

    “Well, the doctor gave me morphine, so there’s no pain, but I still feel like utter crap.”

    “Have you slept at all? You sound like you’ve been up for the last forty-eight hours straight.”

    “Yeah, I just woke up a few minutes ago to be honest. How much longer until you get here?”

    “I’m turning down Ashwood now, so I guess five minutes? And wow, have you heard this wind man? It’s completely insane. People are being swept off their feet and pushed around.”

    “Yeah, I heard something about that on the news. Be careful alright?”

    “Don’t worry about it,” she said with a laugh. “I’m pulling onto your street now. See you soon!”

    As Blake put the phone back on the cradle, he tried to make the place seem clean in the few minutes he had before Alana showed up. The wind howled from outside as it bounced off the glass of his window, making him realize that Alana wasn’t exaggerating when she said people were being blown about.

    Knock, knock.

    Rushing to the door, Blake opened it and stepped aside as Alana came in. She placed her helmet beside the doormat, and shook her long fiery red hair out of the ponytail she had it tied in. She was wearing a fitted leather jacket and a pair of dark blue skinny jeans that covered the top of her two inch heel boots. As she smiled and gave him a hug, she noticed the cast on his arm and looked at him with slight uncertainty.

    “I thought you said it was nothing horrible?” she said, lifting up his arm.

    Blake laughed, and turned around to show her the back of his skull. His light brown hair was stained red because he hadn’t been allowed to wash it yet, and it was all matted down from the glue that was still stuck there.

    “Oh my god!” she cried out loud, giving him a hug from behind. “What the hell happened to you?”

    “Slow down Alana, you’re not even off my doormat yet and you’re already interrogating me,” said Blake with a laugh.
  5. Trying to stand up, Blake carelessly put pressure on his wrist, causing him to fall over again. The lights from the metro cast a delicate shadow over him as the ground began to shake harder and harder as the train neared. The driver obviously didn’t see him, there’s was no sign that he was going to be slowing down, and who would see someone lying down in the middle of the tracks? Blake shut his eyes in despair, and wished to anything and everything, hoping that on some sort of miracle he could just roll away and miss the train. The train was nearly on his heels, and Blake looked up at the people, seeing the man’s face that had pushed him. The man had a grin set upon his square jaw, and his dark brown eyes seemed completely black and lifeless as he turned to look at the train.

    Blake managed to get himself to his feet at the last moment, and flung himself towards the side of the tracks. Holding his hands to his head in despair, the train just kept on speeding by. It was missing him barely by just life-saving inches. Sparks ignited on the tracks as the train came to a halt, and then it took off.

    He breathed heavily, trying to let more oxygen into his lungs to calm himself down. He took the belt off his pants, and tied it around his arm and neck as a temporary sling before he went to get it fixed. Taking out his cell phone, Blake dialed 911 quickly with his left hand, and let out a shaky breath while he put the phone to his ear.

    “911 what’s the emergency?” the person said.

    “I’m at the Coltran metro station and someone pushed me onto the tracks and I broke my wrist. I need to get to a hospital,” Blake tried to say calmly, but he knew all too well that he had probably rushed his words to an almost incomprehensible sentence.

    “Stay where you are sir, we’ll have someone over there as soon as possible.”

    “Thank you,” he said as he ended the call.

    He felt a sudden blood rush to his head, and then extreme light-headedness came over him. Blake felt as though he was falling slowly backwards, being caught in a gentle breeze’s embrace, and then his head hit the pavement and everything went black.

    Blake was greeted by the chatter of paramedics as his eyes slowly started to open and he could see what was going on. He was being strapped to a stretcher, and an oxygen mask was placed to his face, assuring that he was still breathing. He lifted his head slightly, and one of the paramedics pushed it back down gently.

    “Don’t exhaust yourself,” he said to Blake gruffly.

    The back of his head felt wet, and although he couldn’t see it, the white sheet he was placed on was stained red, and he realized that. With a groan, he let his head roll to the side and tried to keep his eyes open as much as he could to assure he remained conscious.

    He was wheeled into the ambulance, and a paramedic got into the back with him and shut the doors that made a loud metal bang as they locked in place. Blake cringed at the noise that echoed through the back of the ambulance, but the noise was interrupted by the medic’s voice.

    “How are you feeling?”

    “Like I just got pushed in front of a subway bus and broke my wrist,” replied Blake sarcastically.

    The medic laughed, and readjusted the IV bag that got knocked over as they sped over the cracked up freeway. Looking out the window, he nodded to himself and then turned back towards Blake.

    “We’re pulling into the Hospital parking lot now. Don’t worry, you won’t have to wait, because you have a crack in your skull so you’ll be admitted instantly.”

    “Thanks a lot. Today’s just been weird,” said Blake with a shake of his head.

    “No kidding, you just got pushed in front of a subway train. You’ll be fine,” he said with a warm smile.

    The ambulance stopped, and Blake got blinded as someone opened up the doors of the back and the sunlight was let into the vehicle. He was wheeled out of the ambulance, and then right on through to the emergency room where a doctor awaited him. After being placed onto the gurney in the room, the doctor started filling out a basic injury report-like sheet.

    “What’s your name, son? Full name if you please,” she asked. “I’m Dr. Pritchard.”

    “Blake James Farrell,” replied Blake, putting his left hand out for a handshake. The doctor shook his hand with a warm smile, and moved around the gurney to get a better look at the back of his head. Accidentally touching his arm as she walked by, Blake cried out in pain.

    “Christ!” he said as he winced.

    “What’s wrong?” the doctor said, giving him an odd look.

    “My wrist is broken,” he said apologetically.

    “Oh! Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry! I’ll take care of it as soon as I’m done gluing the cut in your head okay?” said Dr. Pritchard.

    “That’s fine, as long as everything gets fixed,” he said, flashing her a smile that made her melt on the inside.

    She carefully cleaned the blood from around the cut with a damp cloth, and then sterilized it with an alcohol swab and then glued it with something that smelled strongly, like crazy glue. She looked down at her watch and waited for two minutes to pass, and then put another coating of glue on.

    “You have to be extremely careful now. If you start getting extreme pain in that area come right back and we’ll check it out again. You won’t be allowed to wash your hair for at least forty-eight hours while the glue dries, and make sure not to touch it so that it doesn’t reopen. I would’ve given you stitches because of it’s length, but it was already starting to scab and I didn’t want to shave off the hair on the back of your head.”

    Giving him a paper that had basically what she had just said to him written on it, she motioned for him to follow her into the x-ray room to take a better look at his broken wrist. She disappeared for a moment, and Blake looked at her leave with a perplexed expression. When she returned, she handed him one of the pastel colored hospital robes and asked him if he would rather wear the robe or take his shirt off to make sure that the material of his clothing didn’t interfere with the x-rays.

    “I’ll just take off my shirt, those robes are really uncomfortable,” he replied.

    Using only his left hand, he struggled to take off the t-shirt he was wearing, but after a few minutes of what he assumed made him look like a flailing bird, he took it off. He placed it along with the hospital robe on the chair placed at the opposite end of the room.

    “I’ll need you to place your whole left arm on this table here, and then I’m going to turn on the x-ray machine so I want you to look away alright?” said Dr. Pritchard as she walked over to the x-ray controls.

    Blake nodded and did as she asked, placing his arm on the white-colored glass table. He looked away, and he could hear the machine turn on. Something passed over his arm, shining a light onto his arm and recording the image of his bones. He heard the machine’s low humming stop, and then Dr. Pritchard came back with an image of his broken wrist.

    “Come, we’ll use the UV light back in my office.”

    After Blake retrieved his shirt and struggled to put it back on, it took them almost three minutes to get back to her office, and when they did she put the image up on the light-screen. He could see where the bone has cracked, and Blake looked back down at his wrist wondering how badly he actually had landed.

    “You wrist is broken just a bit below where the radius meets the carpal bones. You also fractured your ulna and one of your carpal bones. It’s going to take three to four weeks for it to heal, but it might take longer because of the multiple fractures.”

    Blake nodded unhappily. One break and two fractures. Even as a kid he’d never broken anything as badly as that. He took a closer look at the break, and his radius bone was completely split across, and luckily it hadn’t moved or else it would’ve been much harder for
    it to heal.

    She took out a roll of gauze, and started bandaging his wrist tightly. Blake bit his lower lip as he held back cries of pain, and she finally cut the material, separating it from the rest of the roll.

    “We’re going to go make the molding now
    alright?” said Dr. Pritchard who felt as though
    she wasn’t explaining things well enough.

    “I hate this part,” Blake said with a shudder.

    “You’ve broken a bone before?” she asked, surprised.

    “I broke my shin when I was eleven. Let’s just say it hurt a lot more than this,” he said, lifting up his right arm. Dr. Pritchard laughed, and opened the door to the cast-making room.

    “Wilson! We need a wrist cast for Mr. Farrell here,” she snapped to the man who seemed to be in charge of making casts.

    “I’ll be right on it Dr. Pritchard,” said Wilson groggily. “I’ll need you to put your arm in this molding, Farrell,” he said, pointing to one of the various cast molds spread about the room.

    Blake sat down on the chair next to the molding, and did as he was told. Wilson went to get some of the molding, and poured it on his forearm. Blake shivered from the grainy feeling of the mould, and sang a song to himself in his head to distract him. Wilson closed over the molding, and set a timer for fifteen minutes. He yawned again, and went back to the desk he was previously at and started writing madly.

    “Wilson hasn’t been getting much sleep because he’s working on his doctorate degree. He’s been working on his Thesis in between visits from patients,” said Dr. Pritchard quietly so that Wilson wouldn’t hear her and get distracted.

    The timer went off with a loud buzz, and Wilson jumped from his chair and opened the molding. The mould had settled and turned into an off-white color, and Wilson pried his arm carefully off of the mould. Shaving off the extra bits with a piece of sandpaper, Wilson then pointed towards the door.

    “Now all your friends can sign it! Bye!” he said as he gave Blake and Dr. Pritchard an urging push out of the room so he could continue his work.