miyako73
04-26-2014, 07:51 PM
The Inner City Muralist
"Resuscitation!"
The sterile scent of the room turned into a whiff of nothing. The rusty stench of my oozing blood no longer bothered my sensitive nostrils. I sniffed myself, but I could not smell my musty fragrance. I inhaled the thick brown antiseptic on my face; its metallic stink was gone. Even the strong fume of alcohol lost its biting odor.
I tried a few times, but my tongue could not tell the saltiness of my saliva. The bitter residue of anesthetic numbing my cheeks went away with my breathing. My throat parched by chilly oxygen respired a tasteless sigh. My lips dark from years of smoking completely dried, and my thirst had no awful flavor. I could not taste anything.
The rubbery touch of the gloved hands, all of a sudden, avoided me. Even the caress of the soft, warm linen did not comfort my shivering. I felt naked. The dripping fluid did not wet my skin. The cold feel of steel vanished. I touched the tubes, the rough bandages, and the faces surrounding me. They were illusions and ghosts I could not grasp.
The bullets they probed, pulled, and dropped in the metal pan did not clank. The muted cacophony of busy steps suddenly stopped. The electronic beeps of wired monitors turned faint and then silent. It seemed the noises from all corners sulked. Their worried words ceased into complete hush. I was not deaf, but my ears could not hear even my own hopeless begging.
The brightness of the halogen bulbs dimmed. The blues moving back and forth were losing their hues. The walls and the ceiling ceded their lambent glow to black. Struggling, I widely opened my eyes. I saw the haunting profusion of emptiness in the dark. The world was abruptly deprived of colors, hues, and lights.
Just like a snap, I breathed my last. In a fraction of a second, I regained my breathing back in my strange rebirth. I became a wandering soul. My feelings and thoughts intact, I found myself somewhere obscure and gloomy. I did not know who or what brought me inside the long, dingy tunnel. It was dark, but I could see.
Everything felt vague and looked unknown. I was running but I did not feel the ground. Though weightless, I still had my agile balance. I yelled on top of my lungs asking where I was. My shout echoed back to me. I jumped, dropped, and tumbled to check if I was still alive. My somersaults were effortless as if I had existed in a vacuum.
I cried. My childhood memories overwhelmed me. I remembered every detail of my past. The familiar faces of those who had gone before me popped up in my head one by one. I could hear their voices ringing inside my ears. They welcomed me, but I refused to listen. In chorus, they told me about the light at the end of the tunnel.
Upon hearing about the light, I ran as fast as I could. My ankles felt like they had wings. They navigated my legs in the dim of grays and shadows. Far ahead, I could see a speck of bright light. I doubled my speed in anxious fear and excitement. The light that grew bigger as I got nearer stirred my rabid curiosity. As I thought hard what could possibly be waiting for me at the end, I heard someone calling my name and stopping me.
"Why are you in such a hurry?" a male voice asked with a reverberating baritone. "Is your conscience clean?"
After halting myself to a full stop and calming my gasps, I could only nod my yes, hoping he would see me in the dark.
"Do you not have a tinge of hatred in your heart?" His voice became louder.
I did not fully understand his question, but I felt I had to tell him my story. "Nothing, Sir... because I forgave the kid who shot me... because it was part of my unpredictable job in the community," I said.
"Why do you want to see the light?"
"I'm a painter. I want to see colors. I want to see their hues. Sir, I need to see the light"
"What do you paint?" After he spoke, a stream of mist and wind hit my face.
My lungs filled with the freshness of spring that had a hint of decay, I gasped and said, "I paint murals."
He became silent for a while as though he suddenly became busy, and then he bellowed, "We don't have graffiti and bullet-ridden walls here!" The breezy gusts, in an instant, went away like something had just sucked them out of the tunnel.
After all the echoes had faded, it started to become bright again. Noise filled my ears. I could feel my cold palm clasping air. My gums tasted bland. I smelled medicines. The white room reappeared. I saw people. They were breathing.
"Patient resuscitated."
"Resuscitation!"
The sterile scent of the room turned into a whiff of nothing. The rusty stench of my oozing blood no longer bothered my sensitive nostrils. I sniffed myself, but I could not smell my musty fragrance. I inhaled the thick brown antiseptic on my face; its metallic stink was gone. Even the strong fume of alcohol lost its biting odor.
I tried a few times, but my tongue could not tell the saltiness of my saliva. The bitter residue of anesthetic numbing my cheeks went away with my breathing. My throat parched by chilly oxygen respired a tasteless sigh. My lips dark from years of smoking completely dried, and my thirst had no awful flavor. I could not taste anything.
The rubbery touch of the gloved hands, all of a sudden, avoided me. Even the caress of the soft, warm linen did not comfort my shivering. I felt naked. The dripping fluid did not wet my skin. The cold feel of steel vanished. I touched the tubes, the rough bandages, and the faces surrounding me. They were illusions and ghosts I could not grasp.
The bullets they probed, pulled, and dropped in the metal pan did not clank. The muted cacophony of busy steps suddenly stopped. The electronic beeps of wired monitors turned faint and then silent. It seemed the noises from all corners sulked. Their worried words ceased into complete hush. I was not deaf, but my ears could not hear even my own hopeless begging.
The brightness of the halogen bulbs dimmed. The blues moving back and forth were losing their hues. The walls and the ceiling ceded their lambent glow to black. Struggling, I widely opened my eyes. I saw the haunting profusion of emptiness in the dark. The world was abruptly deprived of colors, hues, and lights.
Just like a snap, I breathed my last. In a fraction of a second, I regained my breathing back in my strange rebirth. I became a wandering soul. My feelings and thoughts intact, I found myself somewhere obscure and gloomy. I did not know who or what brought me inside the long, dingy tunnel. It was dark, but I could see.
Everything felt vague and looked unknown. I was running but I did not feel the ground. Though weightless, I still had my agile balance. I yelled on top of my lungs asking where I was. My shout echoed back to me. I jumped, dropped, and tumbled to check if I was still alive. My somersaults were effortless as if I had existed in a vacuum.
I cried. My childhood memories overwhelmed me. I remembered every detail of my past. The familiar faces of those who had gone before me popped up in my head one by one. I could hear their voices ringing inside my ears. They welcomed me, but I refused to listen. In chorus, they told me about the light at the end of the tunnel.
Upon hearing about the light, I ran as fast as I could. My ankles felt like they had wings. They navigated my legs in the dim of grays and shadows. Far ahead, I could see a speck of bright light. I doubled my speed in anxious fear and excitement. The light that grew bigger as I got nearer stirred my rabid curiosity. As I thought hard what could possibly be waiting for me at the end, I heard someone calling my name and stopping me.
"Why are you in such a hurry?" a male voice asked with a reverberating baritone. "Is your conscience clean?"
After halting myself to a full stop and calming my gasps, I could only nod my yes, hoping he would see me in the dark.
"Do you not have a tinge of hatred in your heart?" His voice became louder.
I did not fully understand his question, but I felt I had to tell him my story. "Nothing, Sir... because I forgave the kid who shot me... because it was part of my unpredictable job in the community," I said.
"Why do you want to see the light?"
"I'm a painter. I want to see colors. I want to see their hues. Sir, I need to see the light"
"What do you paint?" After he spoke, a stream of mist and wind hit my face.
My lungs filled with the freshness of spring that had a hint of decay, I gasped and said, "I paint murals."
He became silent for a while as though he suddenly became busy, and then he bellowed, "We don't have graffiti and bullet-ridden walls here!" The breezy gusts, in an instant, went away like something had just sucked them out of the tunnel.
After all the echoes had faded, it started to become bright again. Noise filled my ears. I could feel my cold palm clasping air. My gums tasted bland. I smelled medicines. The white room reappeared. I saw people. They were breathing.
"Patient resuscitated."