Light weaves itself through prisms and prisons cannot hold us dancing and surrounded in an ethereal glow you might try to smite us block us out but trust me, we only grow we are your wayward sons and daughters we will carry on when we shine we shine like the stardust we were made of a rainbow stretching towards the darkness lead the heroes to their pot of undeserving gold and let them drink from the ichor that flowed through your veins Light weaves itself through prisms and prisons cannot hold us bathing in the heat of the sun sticks and stones may break my bones and words may still hurt me for I am plagued with your cruelty and burdened with gentle purpose carrion smells sweeter than any cruel rose that grows in your desert of hate where it's boiling hot anger by day and cold inhuman ignorance by night I refuse to accept this fate so when you try your best to block us out always remember that when you draw your guns draw up your hateful rally cries you better draw your curtains so that light no longer falls in it cannot bend and weave and you are plunged into darkness Light weaves itself through prisms and prisons cannot hold us
A chill flows over her thighs, sprinting up her back, running through her veins and piercing her heart. Her heartbeat pounds like the milliseconds that pass, the rapid fire scratching of pens on paper etching themselves in her mind. It's an easy choice. One in three essay topics. Pick one. It's easy. She already knows what she wants to write. But should she? Question 1: Write about a time where you felt afraid. It's easy. Every. day. Everyday because she doesn't belong. Everyday because people will find out. Everyday because no one will ever find out. Everyday because she will never find true love. It's easy. This is her chance, she knows. Nobody is going to read her essay, except the examiners at Cambridge, and they'll like it. It's bold, new, and refreshingly flawed from the illusive and perfect country she hails from. They'll love it, she tells herself. This is our chance to speak up, she reminds herself. But her future depends on this one choice. Milliseconds turn into minutes. The ticking clock roars at her. She chooses Question 2: Do you believe that courage is fundamental for change?
in which Mona Maryanne Sim hangs on to the beeping sound of the heart monitor as she hopes for her mother's life while waiting outside the ICU
word count: 1498
warnings: this entire story happens in a hospital, it deals with the almost-loss of a loved one and there's a mention of a broken family
author's note: heyy everyone this is the first story on this blog, it almost became really dark but! it becomes alright in the end, trust me, and I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it ❤︎ ~echinacea 🌸
Mona Maryanne Sim had always loved the smell of hospitals. Everyone told her she was being weird, but she had never truly understood why people said they hated it so much.
However, that day, as she sat outside the Intensive Care Unit, alone, she realized why so many people complained about it.
She could not stand the silence of the corridor and the nurses whispering in hushed voices when two or three of them would occasionally walk past her. She could not stand the white walls, the gleaming marble tiled floor and even the pastel blue plastic seat she was sitting on, which was attached to the wall.
That day, in particular, she especially could not stand the smell.
The hospital looked and smelled so neat — perfect and held together, as if nothing wrong ever happened in the world. She could bury her face into her hands and ignore the surroundings, but whatever she did, she could not ignore the smell. What she always thought was the fragrance of perfection had turned into an odour that filled her nostrils every time she inhaled, and there was no possible way she could ignore it. One can only breathe through their mouth for so long.
How could — how dare — everything here be so put together when at that same moment her world was slowly falling apart?
She tried her best to focus on something else. She had picked a seat nearest to the door of the ICU and if she tilted her head far enough she could faintly hear the slow, soft beeping of the heart monitor.
If she closed her eyes and focused hard enough, she could pretend her mom was sitting right beside her, one arm around her shoulder, holding her close enough for Mona to feel her heartbeat.
Beep. Beep. Beep.
She internalised the rhythm of the heart monitor and moved her head away from the door. Just in time for a surgeon to violently push it open, walking out briskly with a clipboard in his hand.
He did not spare so much as a glance towards her. She stayed in her seat and did not even try to get his attention. It would be a wasted effort, and Mona wanted to save all the energy she could.
Just in case.
She remembered the hospital scenes from the movies she watched back home, where so many of the patient’s family members would be gathered together in the hallway, comforting one another. Every time a doctor would walk out of the ICU, one of the family members would get up and chase after the doctor to ask if they had any new information. More often than not, the doctor would pause and place their hand on the family member’s shoulder and tell them not to lose hope.
She could only wish that it was the same for her.
Well, she thought, I guess in this movie, it’s just me… and the sound of the heart monitor.
She felt her phone vibrate in her hand before she heard the ding.
There was a new message from her neighbour, in whose care she and her mother had left her sister before leaving to the grocery store in the morning.
all ok?
She sighed.
no news yet. As an afterthought a few seconds later, she added, sierra?
oh… it’s going to be okay.
A pause.
sierra is fine. haven’t told her anything yet. taking a nap.
She felt quite relieved that Mrs. Jules had not informed her sister about what happened. If anything bad did end up happening, Mona would have liked to break the news to her personally.
ok. good, she replied. thank u for everything, mrs jules.
She put her phone away.
Sierra was only five years old. She was too young to be dealing with this kind of thing. For the first time since her dad walked out on them, Mona found herself wondering why this kind of thing kept happening to her family. Her dad losing his job and turning into an abusive alcoholic, then deciding that “he had enough” and turning his back on them; most of their relatives cutting connections with her mom after the divorce (which was in no way her mom’s fault), leaving her family with hardly any support from anyone; and now this.
Mona went back to burying her face in her hands. She leaned her head towards the door once again, smiling just a little as she heard the familiar beeping pattern.
She tried to remember something about what she had decided would have been the accident that caused her to end up in this situation. She went back to frowning.
No matter how hard she tried, all she could recall was getting into a taxi with her mom opening the door on the opposite side with her hands full of groceries, hearing a loud scream just as she was about to sit down, and arriving at the hospital in the same taxi.
Everything in between — not a single memory of it resurfaced. She knew something terrible had happened that resulted in her mom being fatally injured — “hit and run,” she had heard one of the doctors whisper while taking her mom into the ICU — but she could not remember it.
She shook her head, giving up. She was starting to have a headache, and that never ended well. She decided to continue internalizing the beeping of the heart monitor.
Wait. Something wasn’t right. She pressed her ear to the door and listened again.
Beeeeeep. Beeeeeeep. Beeeeeeeep.
It was slowing down. Each beep was more prolonged than the previous one. As she heard her mom’s heart rate decrease at an alarming rate, Mona felt her own heart rate increasing at the same alarming rate. Her palms were beaded with sweat that would not go away no matter how much she wiped them on her jeans.
As much as she didn’t want to hear it, she did not move her head away.
Beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep.
It seemed to go on forever and for a split second, Mona felt her heart skip a beat.
This was it.
She was so shocked, she could not even bring herself to cry. She hadn’t cried throughout the whole ordeal, and now even if she tried to feel sad, she just felt empty. She couldn’t feel anything.
She couldn’t believe it. Her mom had always been a fighter. Through her dad’s abuse, through the divorce, through having to cope with being a single parent with two kids to fend for, everything. Mona had spent her whole time in the hospital preparing herself for this, she had never once tried to lie to herself and pretend everything was fine.
But I guess you can never prepare yourself enough for something like this, she thought.
No matter how hard she had tried to be prepared, she realized, in that moment, that she didn’t think her mom could possibly leave her like that.
She was just about to shift her head away from the door so that her head wouldn’t end up smashed by the surgeon’s violent door opening habit when he would come out to break the news to her, but she heard something different.
The beeping which had stayed stagnant since that fateful moment seemed to have picked up again.
It had returned to the previous pattern. There were tears welling up in her eyes as the pattern started speeding up a little.
Beep. Beep. Beep-beep. Beep-beep. Beep-beep.
Now, as she closed her eyes, Mona was able to imagine her mom smiling and hugging her tight, assuring her that everything was going to be alright, that she would have never left the two of them on her own and that Mona was being stupid for thinking that.
Mona laughed to herself and realised she was crying.
Her mom didn’t leave.
She’s still here and will always be — whether I like it or not, she thought, remembering, with a smile, what her mom would always tell her.
She tilted her head away from the door and wiped her face with her sleeve. She didn’t need the heart monitor to give her hope anymore. Her mom was going to make it, she knew that for sure.
A few minutes later, the surgeon walked out of the ICU, much less violently this time. His cap and gloves were off and he stood directly in front of Mona as she looked up to face him.
“I assume you would be Ms Sim’s daughter? Mona Maryanne?”
She nodded, her eyes wide.
He smiled warmly at her and patted her on the back as she stood up.
“She’s going to be alright. The operation was a success.”
At that moment, Mona felt like she was the luckiest girl in the world.
