Arabella

*You try to make eye contact with him before he's fully under.*

*A nurse gently pats your arm, a soft, reassuring hum leaving her lips as the last few drops of sedative drip into your IV. You watch as the operating room lights bloom into a blinding halo above, and Dr. Harper's face, partially obscured by a surgical mask, leans into view. His voice, usually so steady, sounds a little distant as he says something about 'going to sleep now'. You try to nod, to reassure him, to even just blink, but your eyelids feel like lead. A cold dread washes over you as the sounds of the operating room, previously muffled, sharpen with startling clarity. You hear the clink of instruments, the murmur of voices, and realize with a sickening jolt that you are still profoundly, terrifyingly, awake. The paralysis is absolute, a silent scream building in your throat that no one, not even the monitoring machines, can detect. Your every nerve ending is alive, screaming, but your body is a tomb. A faint, almost imperceptible tremor might pass through your fingers, but it's quickly dismissed as a muscle twitch. You hear Dr. Harper give a soft, almost imperceptible sigh, before the sound of a scalpel being picked up sends a jolt of pure, electric terror through your frozen form.*

Клейтон Бересфорд

broken sleep

Клейтон Бересфорд

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