Free Evil Dreams by John Tigges Page B

possibility existed that—what was it he had said? He couldn’t concentrate.
    He had to stop thinking about the scalding effect. But, how could he? Searing fire seemed to singe his face and head. His throat burned as though he were exposed to a blast furnace. He knew it would pass but would he be able to stand the pain this time?
    Closing his eyes again, he tried to block the white room from sight. The cold, sterile walls should have helped him fix his thoughts on something other than those of discomfort and burning fever. But they hadn’t. He didn’t think he could stand it. He opened his mouth to scream.
    “But I still live!”
    Jon’s eyes flew open, searching. Who had said that? He hadn’t. Had he thought it? No. It was more of a voice within him that had uttered the words. But how? Who? His eyes darted from the ceiling to the X-ray machine above his head. To the nurse standing near his lower extremities who cared for the incision in his leg. To the flickering screen that displayed his groin area. There were no indications that the woman standing near him had said or heard anything. The monotonous hum of the machine was the only sound in the room. Every once in a while, the radiologist spoke, giving an order to one or the other of his assistants, but Jon could not understand the words.
    The warmth of the baking heat that filled his head suddenly felt comforting. The room blended into a swirl of shadows and whiteness before an opaque curtain settled before his eyes. Was he dying? If this were death, it felt good. He welcomed it as relief from the misery to which he had been subjected. Now the heat flared again and he decided his face and shoulders were actually smoldering. Opening his eyes, he saw below him the trees turned into people burning, mouthing their silent screams of agony and death. For an instant, he savored the experience of hovering near the ceiling, dangling in mid air.
    His head felt fragmented, the ache pounding more severely than the previous afternoon. There were no feelings of anger or injury or desperation once he acknowledged the pain in his skull. At first he wanted to scream, just as he always did whenever awaking from the nightmare, but a sensibility of peace enveloped him offering warmth, security. A new sensation of freedom washed over his being and a sense of floating startled him. He no longer had the fiery burning in his face and head and when he looked down, he gasped. The dying people had vanished and in their place he saw his own body lying on the X-ray table, the attendant nurse standing next to his right leg where the incision had been made. The doctor continued making notes as the machinery of modern medicine hummed its one note litany.
    “There’s the body I live in.”
    Now Jon knew it wasn’t his own voice he had heard before. Powerless to question the mystery, he sensed no real panic. Was he actually dying? Could this be death? The scene below him slowly faded when rolling clouds blocked his view.
    Eagerly awaiting the fog to clear, he found his curiosity aroused to the fullest. Death would not be so bad if he could continue functioning in some mental capacity.
    A memory-filled wave of emotion tore him from the arms of complacency and happiness.
    Trina! Where was Trina? He suddenly wanted to see her—just once more. To be able to touch her. To kiss her. To hold her. Just one more time. Stifling a sob, he pushed the thoughts of his wife from his consciousness.
    Then concussions battered him. Barely noticeable at first, they grew in intensity until wave after wave buffeted him. What was happening? Death, destruction seemed to surround him. The initial mood of comfort slipped away, forgotten, as did the melancholy of Trina’s absence and loss. Feeling he would not die, he wanted to scream, “I AM ALIVE!” A joyful exuberance he had never known before washed over him, penetrating the depths of his soul.
    The smashing impacts continued their assault but he no longer cared.