“Beep---beep---beep,” the heart monitor chirped steadily, but the boy’s condition was worsening. The blood loss was too much.
“Beep—beep—beep,” the pings’ new urgency urged the doctors on, increasing their speed, but whittling away at their hope.
“Beep-beep-beep,” the quicker the chime, the deeper the groove, shaving, sculpting, paring to consume.
“Beeeeeeeeeep,” with an echo the final blow fell, leaving its creation nude: despair. The doctor hopelessly rustled the defibrillator, but knew what would follow. A buzz, a jolt, and then, only to reaffirm the end, the hollow whine of life spent.
“First his parents, now him,” the doctor holding the defibrillator lamented. “I thought we could save him.” He looked to the nurses, but each just shook their head. They disconnected the heart monitor and turned off the power, but a whine remained. It was not as strong, but piercing. They looked at each other, but the sound was not coming from the room. Confused, they turned to leave, but the whine’s volume only increased and the light in the room suddenly shifted hues turning a bright orange and growing brighter.
“Look!” the head nurse pointed, “Out the window!” In the top corner of the window a fire, no, an asteroid came into view. The glowing ball of fire seemed to hang in the sky, but with just a shiver of air and a flash of light: BOOM! The resulting tremble rippled through the room causing all to stumble. Getting to their feet it was, however, not to the window that they returned, their attention was instead, immediately drawn away by another sound: a breath.
“GASP!” thick and audible the boy inhaled, his eyes wrenching open in panic and anxiety. None moved or broke the silence of his frenetic breathing, deep, fast, but impossible. He was supposed to be dead. With an unnatural composure created only from shock, it was the boy who transgressed the silence.
“Where are my parents?”