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synaesthesia: an arts and literary magazine published by the students, faculty, and staff of the Keck School of Medicine

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A Desperate Call to the Angel of Death from the Schizotypal Scientist who is not Dead and not Alive at the Same Time
by Grace Huang

So here I am, lying here – bony, half conscious, barely alive.

         

Death, my good friend, where are you?

         

My body is limp, I can’t really move them. I do not recall how long I was here, who took me here, nor where this is. Nothing is of my command – nose, not really breathing; eyes, not exactly opened; hands, do I still have hands? Yet every bone in my body – this I am keenly aware – is screaming – screaming PAIN!

 

Yes….that’s better……..someone gave me something. Must be my good friend morphine. In a few moments I’ll drift into a dream, a dream where I do not know that I am alive. Now before I go may I make one last plea – Death, where are you?

 

I remember now…….I’m here because I’m sick. My bones, they’re hurting because they are sick. In fact most of my organs are sick. It was a cancer invasion. Yes it was. I remember the day clear as day. It was an autumn morning in the doctor’s office where the invasion was discovered. Then slowly, little by little, these little aliens invaded me, took me over, ate me alive. Actually they are nothing but me…….a bit like how the Earth is invaded little by little by various people and is dying as a result of it. But oh this is alas not the Global Alliance for Green Living Convention, nor the International Ecology Conference where all the important people are there – ha! All the important people, yes, each and every one of them a little alien with green uniforms which they bought with green cash.

 

Maybe this is why I ended up here. Maybe this is why I’m punished. They hate me, these little aliens, they hate me for my big GOD DAMNED mouth, which wouldn’t shut up all my life for whatever I have to say. First they declared me mentally unstable, then they dubbed me a schizotypal personality, then unfortunately they discovered that I have metastatic cancer, then they conveniently figured that my ‘psychiatrical’ problem was probably due to my ‘general medical condition’, since there’s a little alien colony in my brain too. Then they realized how pitiable I am, and requested enough morphine for me to bath in. I am made a saint – really, a saint. Those high school classmates you know? Who remembers them anyway, except when they are dying or when they have died, then you say – ‘Oh My God! I can’t believe it, that is so very sad! You know he was kind of cute even though he wore those stupid tight cartoon t-shirts and was such a geek! Well. That’s life. I guess we won’t see him at the reunion…..speaking of that, let’s go shop for the outfit for it!’ I am so touched. ‘Cute’ was never the word to describe me…

 

Oh but I diverge. I am here to call out to Death. Oh sacred Death, please forgive me – all those things that I haven’t yet done in life, yes, I’ve wasted my time. Forgive me that I never believed in you, or anything else – please do not abandon me here just now – here in this space with eyes that do not open and nose that relies on machine and a body that’s already full of stench. I come back to you oh lord or whatever life is I resign all my previous beliefs I am open WIDE OPEN to whatever the truth is JUST DON’T ABANDON ME HERE…………

 

Where can he possibly be, this angel of Death? I’ve been waiting, waiting for months. I’ve lived my long time here on Earth and it’s time, oh it’s time. My family’s voices coming in and out of my head. They are here? Maybe they are not? They are tired. I am tired. I woke each day (or night? I’m not sure) for a couple of minutes where if I’m lucky I have a dance with Ms. Morphine. Or if I’m not my body reminds me of what a horrible person I was. Who was I? I don’t really know. What was past was gone as always, but nothing like pain in the ‘now’ makes the past so far and away. It’s as if I cannot believe it has come down to this.

 

Was I wrong? Was I wrong? Oh Death you torture me…….some people have it so fast, so fast that they couldn’t even see you coming…..but me, me here lying helpless a pile of smelly tissue half rotten, I have all the time to go over and over again…..was I wrong?

 

Tell me, was it because of those who loved me who I didn’t love back? Was it my stubbornness or selfish need to accomplish? What have I missed? What I could have said or done? Oh yes you may punish me all you can I suppose……I see it now…..I was wrong, so many times before.

 

Death, he is late. What could he possibly be doing? Oh for a scientist like me to say that someone like Death must be able to go everywhere at any given nanosecond……oh they are to laugh at me, my colleagues. Actually we all were little aliens too scared to admit that in front of one’s grave one has no name but God to call. Whatever God is. Death, is something like God no?

 

So the clock is ticking. I’m drifting in delirium, I know that. But time is nothing here before Miss Morphine comes to breastfeed me. There is no time in waiting. Only the absence of what is wanted. If only I understood the concept of eternity so well, I would have written something that could have won me a Nobel prize, whatever it means to win any stupid award.

Oh Death, please come…….I have been too much a philosopher in waiting for you. Now it is time for the truth with no theory attached. Oh is it the medication working? That’s better yes. Miss Morphine never lets me down. Somewhere in the background I heard the shuffling of footsteps and music far away…….I would be waiting even in my dream, for those bells which will ring three times, peace, peace, peace.

Grace is a member of the Class of 2008