Catalepsy

I recall the story of a young boy who’s parents considered his disagreeable behaviour as demonistic possession, deeming Satan held his soul, as they were rather strict Catholics. An exorcism was performed on the boy, that seemingly cured him, but most incredible was his account of the experience. Whilst unconscious and having the "devil driven from his being" the boy dreamt of a dark warrior and a bright white soldier duelling. The incredible accuracy given regarding the facial features and the environment of the account was frighteningly realistic, the frenzy in their eyes, the sparks from their flailing rapiers, the grunts, the sweat, the panic and the very real sense of danger.

I felt my arms tugged and pulled roughly; I noticed at once that I was almost completely naked, my concern covered only with a thin sheet. Hospital-white linen. I felt the breeze of the sheet being removed, and had I not been in such a lucid state I would surely have made efforts to carp. My attempts to voice my concerns were sadly unsuccessful. Perhaps I had been drugged or something such, which had left me in this calmed paralysis. At this stage I attempted to open my eyes and lay gaze upon my carer. My eyes too refused my commands, betraying my wishes to observe my surroundings and confirm my assertions. Only darkness could I conceive. I tried to imagine the pure white surroundings of the hospital. I inhaled the unfailing purity it held, and imagined a bright glow engulfing my body, healing my external matter of any and all damage, an exercise I had first heard almost a million years ago.

"Urgh… yuck," complained one of the voices from a slight distance, stomaching a blobbing clump of vomit.

"What is it?" answered my nurse, still rubbing down and rearranging my arms and legs and chest.

"It’s just so creepy. I just can’t," The words did not come as easy as I have laid them here, "I just can’t get used to this. It’s too, creepy. Yuck." It wasn’t until a few moments of continued complaint had passed before a reply came.

"Try not to think about it. Don’t let it shake you up. Imagine something nice, like balloons flying into the sky on a spring afternoon." Surely my nurse was the nice one, although this comment was followed with a chuckle and spoken with a wink I could not see. I felt secure in her hands, her voice soft and sweet just as Yvonne’s had been. She began to hum a tune… Let’s hear it for the boys…

Goodness me, I had completely forgotten Yvonne! Surely she had heard of my misfortune. She would be along soon enough. She would not have left me after such a serious accident that had left me hospitalised.

"I’m just afraid, you know. Like, one of them might wake up and grab me or something!" The girl sounded young and inexperienced, and was thoroughly repulsed to say the least. The sentence seemed peculiar, but this corresponded with my still unfamiliar surroundings.

"Believe me," said my nurse, "I’ve been here for almost two years and never once have any of them woken up. Once their dead they stay that way, never you worry." She made an uncaring fart sound with her lips and tongue. Spittle hit my eyelid and fell across my brow. Someone in the ward had died! I pitied not the ones who had to deal with the remains. No wonder such unrest nestled in her voice. The situation bread clarity in my thoughts, underlining my own mortality and I attempted to greet it with a concerned groan. My lips refused. Mild panic nestled in the forefront of my mind.