Transience

Darkness.
I’m awake. I am aware.
But I cannot see. Cannot feel. Cannot hear.
I fight the urge to panic. But panic anyway. Panic doesn’t help. Nothing helps. I am in a state of
nothingness.
Blind panic.
Deaf.
Panic.
Time passes. I am aware. Am I aware? Of time passing? I know who I am.
Yes.
What I am. Where I am….
Where am I?
Breathe. I cannot breathe. Yet I must be. Mustn’t I? Try to remember. I haven’t forgotten anything. Try to remember. What to do in a crisis. ACE. No – ABC. Airway. Breathing…Airway, breathing, C for C for sssir. C for circulation. Circulation. A heart beat. Beating time.
Time passes.
I am aware.
I can count.
Time passes.
What is the last thing I remember?
Heading home.
Getting off the train.
Up the steps to the road.
A car horn.
Church bell.
Icy rain on my face as I look up at the bull on the roof.
The vicar’s message on the noticeboard: A spire? Inspire? Expire?
I can hear moaning.
I can hear.
Moaning?
I can feel. Something. Cold between my legs. And wet. What? I can feel my legs, no, my groin. I can smell…ugh…wee. Now I hear gasping, sobbing. My eyes are wet too. What the hell?
I try to call out.
I try to move my hand. My head. My eyes.
‘Mum!’
Zoey’s home from school.
‘Zzy,’ I try to call her. But all I can do is dribble.
‘Can Harriet stay for tea?’
She’s shouting from downstairs. I must be in the bathroom. The floor is cold. No carpet.
‘Zzzzy.’
‘Mum?’
I hear two voices. And footsteps on the stairs.
I hear the light switched on.
I blink.
Darkness.