Fluttering

Peter walked by through the hallway of St. Hives memorial hospital, clutching his right ribs from the effect of the gunshot wounds. Being at the hospital after an unsuccessful bank robbery wasn’t a good idea knowing the cops would be on him anytime.

However, for the fear of death Peter decided to take the plunge of fate. The hospital entrance was filled with ambulances dropping off patients, that no one noticed the blood on Peter’s shirt.

Peter sauntered past the receptionist trying to avoid her eyes, he knew that Rebecca worked at the general hospital and would help stitch him up without involving the police. The hospital was an enormous building of about one hundred rooms with clean white painted walls. Every hallway had a clear visible sign of the hospital directory as one could easily get lost. All fire exit had patrol officers monitoring to ensure that the facility was a safe place to be in.

The bank robbery at the community bank was a deal gone bad that left Peter’s three accomplices dead on the scene due to a cross fire between the robbers and the bank security. He was the only survivor because he was the driver of the vehicle. He sped off the crime scene when the gunshots resonances filled the air but not without a hit to his right rib.

The hospital was barely 10km from the crime scene. Peter knew that if he didn’t seek medical attention sooner or later he would definitely be dead. He had lost so much blood that he was beginning to feel cold tremors. His sense of reasoning and reaction decreasing by second he knew death was near. The blackout seemed nearer than he expected. He could feel the pain knocking his brain back and forth in form of a gruesome headache.

Peter pulled his back against the wall on the third floor of the intensive care unit. His feet could no longer carry him, he gave out a loud cry as the darkness covered his eyes. His breadth in desperate need of oxygen, he could see nothing but hear voices howling from a distance. In his unconscious state of mind, he heard lips chattering and hands pressing down on his right ribs.

The intense sound of the beeping machine occupied the room with the doctors uttering to one another “123 clear”, Peter’s heart beat jumped in dire desperation for life. His body tossed on a metallic white sheet hospital bed. The pressure of the oxygen mask pressing down on his nose.

He faintly heard the doctors saying “Internal bleeding”. In the midst of his blackout and enormous pain, he let the darkness consume him. He clenched his fingers as he felt the stiffness of his body, he finally gave up the fight and breathed his last.

It doesn’t have to be this way. May the season of Christmas remind us that it’s not all about acquiring or gaining for our personal selfish needs or forcefully taking from others.

It’s all about giving and sharing the little we have and in love even little becomes so much that nothing of vanity will matter. On behalf of myself and my family we say merry Christmas and a prosperous new year.

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