The Coma

Wrote this dark comady peice for a local writers group.

‘They tell me you can hear me.’ Her tears swelled as the rhythmic hissing drowns out her sobs. Plagued by the memories of her husband, laying in the bed beside her. Kept alive for the last year by the wires and tubes connected to him.

‘Finally, after a month of nagging, you started on that wardrobe. Then you go hit your head on that beam.’  Her tears flowed freely as she sobbed, her hand grasping his cold, lifeless fingers.

‘Mrs Bird, it’s almost time.’ Came the gentle voice of the nurse.

Marge choked back tears, using the sleeve of her black dress to dry her eyes. “I guess this is goodbye, Bill.”

She felt a rush of anxiety as the doctor and two other nurses entered the room, causing her to squeeze his hand instinctively.

With a flick of the switch, the ventilator released its last puff, and the room filled with the deafening screech of the heart monitor. Marge sobbed uncontrollably, her hand slipping from Bill’s grasp as the nurse gently guided her to a secluded corner and consoled her. As the others removed the tubes, she heard the hissing sound of air escaping. Then a dreadful gasp and choking. Followed shortly by startled murmurs.

Marge jolted her head round, her heart racing, to see what was happening. In the bed, Bill looked bewildered as Marge rushed towards him, the flurry of white coats and stethoscopes surrounding them.

Hitting him softly on the arm, she let out a very irritated, ‘I really cannot depend on you for anything, can I?’