Chapter 1: Hugh

“Welcome to hell, coma boy,” I whispered right up next to his ear. He shivered, taken aback by my directness, and possibly the fact that I was so close to him even though we had just met. I backed away a bit, taking in his whole frame. He was lanky with sandy blond hair and grey eyes. Not the pretty kind of grey, but the kind of grey that confuses you. Are they blue? Green? Brown? Hazel? Nope, they’re definitely grey. His face was rather plain, but there was something about him that struck me as attractive. “Got a name, coma boy? Or shall I continue calling you coma boy?”

           “It’s Hugh,” he spat. “Why do you call me coma boy, anyway? Better yet, who are you? And where the hell am I?”

           “Woah there, take a breath. Come on, use your reasoning skills they teach you in sophomore geometry, why do you think I call you coma boy?”

           “Okay, fine, then answer the other two questions.” Man this boy was demanding. I thought I got over those kinds of people when Travis left. Guess I was wrong.

           I stuck my hand out, hoping he’d shake it. “My names Finley. Want a rundown of my story or does my name suffice for now?” He shrugged, so I decided to continue. “Car accident. Hit head on by a drunk driver. The driver, well he was in a coma too, there for a while, but then he passed on…” My voice trailed off. I didn’t like talking about Travis, it was a sore spot. I mean what are the odds that I get hit by my brother’s best friend. Granted the towns not huge, but still, it blows. “So, coma boy, how’d you end up here?”

           “Where is here exactly? Hell? You did say welcome to hell. But then again you said the driver passed on. I need to stop muttering to myself,” he said/asked/muttered low under his breath.

           “This is the in between. It’s not heaven, but it’s not hell, it’s also not really purgatory. All of those places require you to have died, and we aren’t dead… yet.”

           “Great that’s exactly what I want, to be not dead. I did try to kill myself for a reason, and apparently I failed.”

           “You, you tried to kill yourself? Well you’re a first for me newbie. I’ve had anorexics in a medically induced coma, car accident victims, fall victims, and tons of old people, but never have I met a botched suicide.” I smiled, hoping he’d hear the humor in my voice. Apparently he didn’t because his response was less than stellar.

           “Don’t called me a botched suicide, and stop calling me coma boy!”

           “Fine no coma boy, and no botched suicide. What do I call you then?”

           “I already told you my name. It’s Hugh remember. Four letters, seriously not that hard.” He sighed and rolled his eyes. Man this kid is going to be super annoying. He has zero sense of humor, and obviously he’s just going to be a downer the whole time.

           “Jeez, God, you couldn’t have sent me someone more uplifting?” I whispered. “So Hugh, uh, what was going on in your life before all of this happened?” I motioned to everything around us, which wasn’t much, just a table, a TV, and a fridge off in the corner.

           “I don’t want to talk about it.” He fidgeted, obviously uncomfortable but with nowhere to go. “Is there somewhere I can take a leak?”

           “Uh coma-I mean Hugh, you can’t pee here.”

           “I know that’s why I asked for a bathroom.” A smile finally broke its way onto his face, and I finally figured it out why I thought he was attractive. It was his smile; it managed to light up his whole face, making his grey eyes seem a bit less dull, and his features less harsh.

           “Hmmm, well sir, I hate to break it to you, but you can’t pee in a coma.”

           “Damn. Can I eat in a coma then?” he said eyeing the fridge.

           I shrugged, “I guess I’ve never tried. The fridge never has anything good in it, and I don’t feel hungry so what’s the point.” He looked at me like I had four heads and seven arms, and then I realized that I was most likely talking to a teenage boy, and if I’ve learned anything from my brother, they inhale everything in sight. “But I mean, don’t let me stop you. Eat whatever. The only other person here right now is Kitty, and she’s an anorexic, so you shouldn’t worry about us.”

           He hesitantly made his way over the silver lining in this terribly large cloud, well I guess silver fridge in this terribly mundane, white walled room. “There’s nothing in here?”

           “What do you mean? It was completely stocked last time I checked.” Perplexed I turned to look him dead in the face, “You do know the only way to actually get food out of it, you have to think of something you want? It’s kind of like magic, but like coma magic, like comagic.”

           “Did you come up with that one just now?” I shrugged and he smiled again. I smiled back at him, but his smile quickly faded, like he tasted something sour or remembered a bad memory.

           “What did I do something?”

           “No, I’m just trying to remember something I want, but I can’t think of anything. All I know is I’m hungry, and I. Want. Food.”

           “Okay, okay, let me work my magic, no pun intended.” Thinking of something I used to eat, my mind wandered to times when I used to sit on the couch in my living room, eating pizza, always cheese, and drinking Dr. Pepper, the nectar of the gods, and watching some romantic comedy about a high school couple falling in love.

    “Hey it worked!” Hugh exclaimed breaking me from my trance. Almost wishing the food disappeared when my focus broke, I shot him a somewhat irritated smile.

    “I’ve lived here for a while, of course it worked. Well I guessed lived isn’t a good word. Are we truly living right now, botch-Hugh?” He looked at me like I had just grown a tail to match my four heads and seven arms. “What it’s an honest question…” I mumbled.

    “So how long am I stuck here?” Hugh asked while shoveling the pizza into his mouth. I shrugged.

    “It’s different for everyone, sir. I’ve been here for-well that’s another thing. There’s no day or night in this place. You don’t sleep, you don’t HAVE to eat, you don’t pee or anything like that, really you basically do nothing. It can get tedious, especially if you’ve been here as long as I have.”

    Ignoring the last part he asked midbite, “Wait we can’t do anything here? Like we just sit in this room and do nothing??” I sensed the terror in his voice.

    “Well I mean we can do stuff. There’s games under the table, I think, granted I’ve never played any of them. Everyone else who’s passed through hasn’t wanted to play them with me,” my voice trailed off.

    “Okay, so there’s games and a magic fridge, but what about TV, the internet, books, movies, anything else!” He seemed exasperated, understandably so, I was extremely wary when I first got here.

    “Honestly, I’m surprised you haven’t asked me about seeing your friends. That’s always one cliche in coma movies, that they can see everything that’s going on.”

    He slumped in his chair, “There’s no one for me to want to see.” Had there been even one more person I wouldn’t have been able to hear him over their breathing, but there wasn’t anyone so I heard him loud and clear. I scowled at him.

    “Do you want me to ask about it, is that why you brought it up? So you can tell me your sob story. Botched Suicide, you’re bad at this whole subtlety thing.”

    “I told you stop calling me that. It’s Hugh.”

    “I know, but everyone gets a nickname here, so either come up with your own and I’ll christen it for you, or accept mine. Anyway you didn’t answer the question, do you wanna talk ‘bout it?” I wonder if he’s seen Charlie Bartlett? I hope he has or else that reference definitely fell flat. I picked at the varnish on the table, growing impatient as each second passed. “Well…”

    “I don’t want to talk about it. It was stupid of me to mention it, sorry.”

    “No sorries here, coma boy, no reason to say that. New topic, think of your nickname yet? Or shall I ask you that one later as well.”

    “You’re going to keep calling me coma boy if I don’t, aren’t you?”

    “Nah, I’ll call you botched suicide too, unless you’d prefer one over the other?”

    “Is neither an option?”

    I sighed, “No sir, neither is not an option. Wait, your nickname can be Sir Hugh! Is that good?”

    “Aren’t nicknames suppose to be shorter than the actual name?” I shook my head at this notion. I mean I guess my nickname was, but that’s only because Fin happens to be shorter than Finley. Man I need a new nickname. Fin is so overrated.

    “Nope, that’s a dumb rule, Sir Hugh. I like it, Sir Hugh. Sounds sophisticated, like a king, or maybe a queen.” I shot him my a thousand watt smile, hoping he’d get the joke. He didn’t. “So, Sir, tell me your story. You don’t have to say how you got here or anything, just give me something.” I hope he heard the eagerness in my voice. I love hearing everyone’s stories, even if they weren’t the ones that directly got them here, they definitely had some direct indirect input. Whoops definitely said direct too many times.

    “Why don’t you tell me yours first, seeing as you're so interested in mine.”

    “Okay, I’ll make a compromise with you. I’ll tell you some other stories then you can tell me yours and maybe, now hear me I’m saying MAYBE, I’ll tell you mine. We got a deal?”  

    “Sure, deal,” he muttered in a harsher tone than I’m sure he meant to.

    “Okay I’ll start with Ballerina-wait I mean Liz, or Elizabeth or whatever you want to call her.”

    “Woah she gets two nicknames and neither are offensive? Not fair.”

    “Shut up coma boy, I’m telling a story here.”

Author's Note

Too much dialogue? How do I fix this? I don't want to give away Finley's story yet so how do I avoid this? Any comments accepted. XOXO