History Can Repeat Itself

Larry was going so fast the scenery was a blur. It would’ve probably still been a blur if he was going five miles per hour.

                                                                               

            We pulled into the hospital parking lot and hurried to the door – Larry carried Mother. She was as pale as a ghost.

 

            The receptionist at the front desk told us to take a seat and to wait for the doctor to come. I sat down numbly, my mind doing summersaults. It took me a while to get everything in order to talk to Larry.

 

            “What…” I croaked. I realized I was going to cry, and swallowed. “What happened?” I managed to get out finally. Larry took a moment to answer. I waited patiently, swallowing constantly to keep the tears down. Larry finally managed to collect himself.

 

            “The bus left early, without him. He was walking home when the storm came. He was –” Larry swallowed, and blinked. “He was… hit… in front of the Harrison’s. Pat Harrison was out at the time, looking for their dog. Pat called nine one one and they took him here. Pat just called when you got in…” Larry wiped his eyes.

 

            “What – how is he?” I asked. I was really crying now. Larry choked.

 

            “The doctor doesn’t know… he was alive when they took him in… the chances are… low.” He finished and broke out in silent tears. We all waited in silence, other than the occasionally sniffle or moan from Mother. The doctor came out finally.

 Mother looked up hopefully. I pitied her.

            “Your son isn’t in a very good situation.” started the doctor. “The chances are low that he will get through this without a large degree of brain damage.” I felt myself look up.

 

            “Does that mean he’s alive?” my voice sounded dead, even to me.

 

            “He is alive, but barely. He is in a coma. All we can do now is wait. With your permission, Mrs. Jones, we should move him to extensive care.”  Mother collapsed back down onto her chair. Father was in a coma before he died.

 

            “What level is it?” Mother wasn’t crying anymore. She just looked lost. The doctor was surprised.

 

            “It’s a seven.” He said. I bit my lip. It was better than Fathers was anyway. The deepness of a coma is measured on a scale of three to fifteen. Three was the lowest. People almost never came out of a three. Father was a three.

The End

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