Final Few Moments...

This is the story of a woman who has a couple of life changing moments in a hospital before . . .

 

            Her eyes were the color of death . . .

            And yet she was happy. She was calm even though every staff member in the hospital ran around frantically. She was comfortable despite the multitude of tubes both on and inside her body. She was happy, even through the immense pain she was experiencing now.

            She looked over to her left, and saw the little girl. She was pale white, with half her hair gone. Her eyes were closed; she was unconscious. Her face was also covered in a myriad of scratches and bruises.

            “You OK, Ali?” A male nurse interrupted the solemn moment.

            Ali nodded, never looking away from the child. The nurse sat himself down on a stool next to Ali’s bed, and looked at the clipboard in his hands.

            “Ali.”

            She slowly turned to him.

            “How are you feeling?”

            Horrendously in pain!

            “Never better,” she confessed, with no sign of trouble showing. “When did it happen?”

            She didn't know why she had asked that question.

            “6:24PM, exactly.”

            She looked at the clock; it said 7:42. She looked out the window; it was dark.

            "Who did it?"

            "We don't know yet, exactly."

            She noticed the nurse in the background. She was a middle-aged African American woman, whose eyes glowed intensely. She had a clipboard, too, and a stopwatch. Her nametag read Celeste. Ali thought about how she could read it, and then noticed that her dress was still white, unlike anyone else’s. Ali had a strange feeling that she had seen this woman before.

            “I’ll be back shortly,” the male nurse said as he rose to leave. He paid no attention to Celeste as he left the room.

            The clock said 7:43. Ali moved toward the little girl and opened one of her eyes. She smiled as she saw, slowly yet surely, the little girl’s eye becoming more intense in color. She looked at her reflection in a nearby mirror. As she had suspected, her eyes were becoming hazier.

            She looked back into the child’s eyes and smiled. She turned to the nurse, who had crept up on them, and smiled at her. Celeste smiled as well; then her face became grave.

She showed Ali the clipboard that had been in her hands. On it read:

            ‘Ali Marie Galveston, 33. Marcus Nathaniel Anderson, 23. Nissan Altima, 1999. 7:47 PM. No (11).

            She also caught a glimpse of the time on the stopwatch: 4:00.49.

            Ali looked up at clock; she had a coughing fit as she saw the time just become 7:43. In an instant, Celeste handed her a glass of water. She drank, feeling it work as though it was an elixir of life, yet she still felt pain. She laid back down.

            “Thank you,” Ali said, a little taken aback as to how fast she got the water.

            She meditated on everything on the list: Ali Marie Galveston, obviously her own name; Marcus Nathaniel Anderson, couldn’t remember him; Nissan Altima, 1999, her car . . .

            And then it hit her. The car that was hit by a drunk driver. The same one that was involved in at least a three car and one pedestrian accident. The same one that had trapped her upside down.

            She remembered before that, when she was donating money to a children’s foundation. A rich co-worker of hers had put in a $100 bill, while Ali only put in $20. Everyone was cheering the co-worker; no one noticed Ali. She also remembered helping her friend Lucy with a project they were supposed to work on together. She was later called in by her boss, and yelled at because she “supposedly” had done nothing on the project. That meant that Lucy would get more money.

            She also remembered as she got in her car, her boyfriend called, and told her that it was over. He was leaving her for Trisha Linkern, a name she immediately recognized as a local swimsuit model. He said she hadn’t “put out” enough, and he had had it . . .

            Before she could continue on in her thought, Celeste turned on the television. Ali watched with watery eyes as the screen progressed from black to a haze, then to a crystal clear news broadcast.

            “… And Dave, there are five cars on 3d04 street, one of the most special streets in California. It is today, however, a scene of tragedy as one pedestrian had to be taken to the hospital, and the fatality count is unconfirmed. No one knows why this street is special, but today, it is a scene of bad luck. Back to you, Tim.”

               Celeste turned off the TV, and looked at the child. She then went to her, and took in her hands a necklace the little girl was wearing. She showed it to Ali:

“HOPE”

            Ali stared at it. “Is that her name?”

            Celeste nodded, and then reached into her pocket. She pulled out a calculator. It had many buttons on it: a w; for weight, an s, for speed; a d, for distance; a g, for gravity; and a t, for time. She stared at it for some time, and then laughed. Celeste smiled.

            The clock said 7:44 as Ali returned to her memory.

 

She remembered seeing two paramedics enclose the hit pedestrian; the little girl. Two policemen had restrained a man who was obviously drunk.

            “Who’s this?” One of the pedestrians asked.

            “His name’s Marcus,” the policewoman answered.

            “Marcus, we need you to give some of your blood to this girl.”

            Marcus laughed at the plea.

            “I can’t do that,” he slurred.

            “This girl’s life depends on it!” The paramedic said angrily.

            Now Marcus, seeing the actual magnitude of what needed to be done, panicked.

            “Dude, I can’t do that! I didn’t mean any harm. I was just driving, a little intoxicated, when BAM! Please don’t make me do this,” he started to cry.

            The policeman sighed, and addressed the others involved in the crash.

            “Would any of you like to give blood?”

            The others remained silent, and no one paid any attention to Ali. As she watched the policemen have a fit, she noticed a hand on the top of her car. It seemed to be reaching to her. She took it, and it forced her out. She looked up; it was Celeste.

            Her eyes shone with the same hot intensity as they did in the hospital.

            Celeste wasted no time in whistling to the others, who immediately rushed to Ali’s side. Everyone crowded her, except for Celeste, who picked up the frail and limp Hope. She now, for some reason, recalled how her parents beat her for not being top of her class, no matter how hard she tried. She recalled her three “friends,” who never asked her to anywhere because her job was not the highest paying. She recalled her two bosses, ranting on her for being lazy, when in fact she was not the hardest worker. She thought of all this as she watched Hope, bleeding.

            “I’ll do it,” Ali wheezed.

            Everyone stopped rambling.

            “What?”

            “I’ll give her what she needs.”

            It took a while before they understood. They picked her up, and put her in a bed next to Hope. The others watched, heads down in grave silence. Both Celeste and the male paramedic, named Harold, enter with them. They were soon mobile.

            “Thank you, Celeste,” Ali said.

            Harold took her by the hand.

            “Now look, I know you are probably shaken to your core, but I need you to focus. I can’t help you unless you focus.”

            Ali agreed, smiling weakly yet wholeheartedly.

 “Now tell me: who is Celeste?

            The clock said 7:45 now. Celeste’s stopwatch said 1:57.39.

            Ali looked around, and saw that the television had been turned back on again. This time, it was on the show Prison Confessions. The guest was Marcus.

            “*I’m sorry!” He wailed. “I meant no harm. I only wanted to get drunk and drive home. I wanted to forget my troubles and live life. I never meant to hurt nobody!” He broke down, and couldn’t continue.

            Ali looked on with pity, and decided in an instant to forgive him. Hey, she thought to herself. Why leave Earth with a bad conscience? Besides, I think he’s deserved it.

            She looked at Celeste; they were smiling at each other. Now she showed the clipboard again. It read:

            ‘Ali Marie Galveston, 33. Marcus Nathaniel Anderson, 23. Nissan Altima, 1999. 7:47 PM. No (10).

            Ali also wanted to forgive everybody else in her life: her parents, her “friends”, her bosses. Now the clipboard read:

‘Ali Marie Galveston. Marcus Nathaniel Anderson. Nissan Altima, 1999. 7:47 PM. No (3).

Ali also forgave the rich girl who took her attention; Lucy, who was making more money than her; and, hardest of all, her boyfriend Maverick. Now Celeste jumped in the air, and showed the clipboard one last time. It read:

‘Ali Marie Galveston. Marcus Nathaniel Anderson. Nissan Altima, 1999. 7:47 PM. Good to go (0).

Ali looked at the heart monitor. It became slower. Celeste showed the stopwatch. It read 0:37.23.

            Ali looked at the girl, and was not panicked when she saw only a blur. She merely reached out and stroked her face. It felt warm; that was all she cared about. She stroked for some time before Celeste whispered to her, “It’s time.”

            Ali sighed as she thought of how she had saved Hope’s life by giving her own. Ali relaxed. She never thought of death as a joy . . .

            . . . Until now. She finally had done something that was life impacting, and would be rewarded for it.

            The last thing she felt was Celeste push her hand into her body, and pull her soul out. Her spirit traveled up.

            At that moment, the stopwatch hit zero, and her hand went limp.

            Celeste looked at the stopwatch. It read:

"ETERNITY"

            Celeste smiled a big smile. She wiped off the scratches and bruises on Hope, and disappeared just as doctors rushed into the room. She caught up to Ali, and took her hand. Ali’s eyes glowed with the same intensity and life as Celeste’s as they ascended.

 

Author's Note

Please help me improve this. I appreciate any reviews that would make this piece stronger.
And what is up with the 3d04? It's a mystery I felt needed to be in there. Can you figure out why 3d04 is special?
Hint: the calculator is a clue.

Reviews

[Queen of Sin]

That was really good>

[Jon Gary Frost]

Upside down HOPE. Nice twist. Good story.