Yet Another Wasted Soul
The room is pitch black. Not a single sound except for the rythmic ticking of an alarm clock and the slow steady breathing of a man asleep. Suddenly the man jolts awake! Drenched in sweat and gasping for air. It only takes a moment for him to realise it was just another bad dream. He sighs in relief and turns on the lamp placed on the nightstand next to him, lighting up the room. It's a small room. Almost to small for the bed, nightstand and dresser it currently housed. He emerges from the bed, stiffening as his bare feet make contact with the cold hard wood floor. He mumbles some profanities to himself and walks down the small hallway into the kitchen. After turning on the light he picks up a sandwich bag full of assorted pills momentarily examining the contents of the bag before choosing 3 unlabled white pills. He throws them into his mouth and washes it down with a swig of the vodka bottle on the counter in front of him. Hazily he stumbles back into his bed to continue his sleep.
The sunlight makes contact with his face causing a grumble of annoyance and a rude awakening. He tries to fall back asleep but after a few minutes of failing to do so he groggily gets out of bed and walks over to the dresser. After changing into a clean T-shirt and a pair of jeans he puts his shoes on, grabs his car keys and the sandwich bag of pills then heads out the door. He starts his car and backs out of his driveway into the street when he hears his cell ring. "Yea?" he answers sounding somewhat angry. "Yea I've got the stuff I'm just heading over now." he sounds more relaxed now that he knows it's just his usual customer. "I know man, the monies in the mailbox take it, ring the bell, leave the stuff. Same as always." he pauses for a second and then adds. "Just be careful with this stuff it's good but you'll practically be in a coma when it wears off." then he hangs up the phone. He pulls up to the house about 3 minutes later and does exactly what he was expected to do. He parks in the driveway, walks up the porch steps to the mailbox next to the door, takes the money, leaves the pills and rings the bell. Back in the car he counts the money making sure it's all there and then starts up the engine. Right before he backs out he hears what he believes to be police sirens. In a panicked state he rushes out of the driveway without noticing the firetruck speeding down the street towards the passanger side of his car. He looks over just in time to watch the firetruck crash into the side of his much smaller 1990 Honda Civic. The impact of the truck causes him to be thrown towards the passanger side of the car while the passanger window shatters and flings glass towards his direction. Some of the larger shards cut the back of his head as the top of his skull lunges towards the lower part of the car door creating an auidable cracking noise and causing it to fracture rendering him unconcious.
"How's he doing?" the doctor asked the nurse a hint of hopelessness in his voice. "He just got prepped for emergency surgey. He suffered a depressed skull fracture in an accident with a firetruck. He was bleeding everywhere and the lacerations from the glass shards aren't making things easier for anyone." after a short pause the doctor precedes to ask "Who is he?" the nurse sighs deeply and responds "Nobody knows, there was no identification on his person. Just another John Doe." The doctor sighs, nods and walks away.
"wha- what the? Where am I?" John says as he picks himself off of the dirt ridden floor of the dark public restroom he woke up in. "What the hell happened?" He then turns to see his relfection in the mirror. He's shocked to find out that his head is covered with blood soaked bandages and he's wearing a blood stained hospital gown. In a silent state of confusion John gets closer to the mirror looking almost terrified at the multiple throbbing cuts and scars that now decorate his face and the blood trickling down from his forehead. He grabs the end of the bandage on his head and reluctantly begins removing it. The bandage finally begins wearing thin and is coming to it's end. When it's finally completely removed John vomits violently into the sink in front of him and runs out of the bathroom in shear terror. The blood no longer concealed by the bandages begins pouring down Johns face causing him to panic even more and making it hard for his eyes to make out his surroundings. He begins screaming for help but it's all in vain. Not a single living being was in sight. In fact it almost seemed as if time had stood still. John presses his hands against the open wound on his head and begins stumbling towards the nearby street. As he looks around everything seems somewhat gray and there wasn't even a parked car let alone another person to assist him. He begins screaming for help again still unaware of the gravity of the situation. He sprints as hard as he can down the street only to find that that particular street ends with a large cliff overlooking a black abyss. Terrified he doubles back and runs to the opposite side of the street only to find that the abyss continues on that side as well. At the sight of this he begins weeping uncontrollably. Blood still pouring down his face and burning his eyes. With only a few seconds of contemplation he jumps off the edge of his world to what he hopes would be a blissful death.
"We're losing him!" The head surgeon shouts in disbelief. "What happened!?!" one of the other surgeons shouts in a panicked response. "He's...He's gone." another surgeon says causing the chaotic confusion to cease and the room to go silent. "How could this have happened?" The head surgeon asks quietly. "We don't know sir." One of the surgeons replies. "Everything was going fine it was as if he lost the will to live." another surgeon quickly adds. "Right, so thats what we can say on the report. Everything was going fine with us it was the patient who chose to die." The head surgeon responds in sarcasm and anger. At this the room falls silent.