I awakened three days later in the emergency ward of University hospital. Apparently, the guy who pounded me unconscious didn't have the steadfastness and moral resolve to finish the job. A doctor walked in to explain the precariousness of my situation. He made a show of casually flipping through my charts and probably had plenty of relevant things to say--really.
The only problem was I had no idea he was there. My mind, with the help of some foreign substance, probably a member of the opiate family, had chosen to focus on more significant matters.
Drip. Drip. Drip.
Water has a mysterious quality when traveling in slow motion--suddenly I understood the formation of the Grand Canyon. And this powerful substance was rushing towards me. This fucker had to be stopped!
I ripped the I-V from my arm, elbowing the doctor in the process, sending him flying into the bedpan.
A shriek of terror, slow motion, everything as comical as it was obscene. A half dozen nurses flooded the room, shouting hurried instructions to one another. Arms flailing in the air, two anemic male orderlies tried frantically to pin down my arms. Another shriek of terror, this time originating from somewhere deep within, a dripping syringe--release.