My head is a balloon floating from a child’s hand. The bed, beeping machines, city streets with colonies of feet fall out of focus below me. I’ve never been much a believer in heaven or hell but beyond the clouds there exists a veil. It waves me forward, a welcoming call.
Oh but I can feel the child like tug after all. My balloon head fills with lead, plummeting, it lands squarely against the bed.
Perhaps it’s a bit too loaded, this moment they allude to in death. The pressure to ascend just right, or be doomed to plummet into the hand of a mad man, is enough to drive one from sanity.
The nurse slips a round or two into my IV. I never truly see her. My mind shuffles like channels over the TV, all white noise and infomercial pleas.
For the briefest of seconds a signal flickers. Sensations flood my mind, driving me quickly into overtime. Between the thrashes and splashes the nurse stands stoic, medicine at the ready.
I don’t say much, my tongue operates like the finest mush, but the nurse with her ruby smile assures me. She pats my hair and caresses my arm.
“Don’t worry dear, I’ve got the cure right here.”