Sep. 23rd, 2008 09:15 pm
arualms: (Default)
[personal profile] arualms
Another one for the confusin drabble-fic. I am using this to try out all kinds of things on a small scale. Feel free to tell me what works and what doesn't, I definitely won't be offended.

Also, as always, no copy-right infringement is intended. I don't own anything you recognize.

The sirens of an ambulance sounded different when you were inside of it. More piercing, a constant ringing in his ears instead of the typical rising and then ebbing away when one drove past you in traffic. And despite the fact that they were unbearably loud, he could still hear the paramedics talking; commands, questions and answers thrown back and forth. Not that he actually understood what they were saying, but the urgency in their voices needed no translation. Neither did the beeping of the monitor they had attached to Meyer, the rhythm less regular that he was sure it was supposed to be. So much for the hope that things might seem worse than they actually were.

There had been so much red, so many people crying out in pain and fear, that he had believed there was a chance that the dark color staining Meyer’s clothes might come from somebody else. They had all been standing together closely, and so afterwards some of them had lain together in a heap that evoked memories of horrible pictures on the evening news . But her formerly bright green coat and the shirt that used to be light blue  had been cut away, and the deep gash in her side kept oozing sluggish liquid through the already saturated gauze onto the stretcher, despite the paramedic’s efforts.

The sickening smell of it mixed with that of the disinfectant that seemed to dominate the vehicle just as it always did hospitals and doctors’ offices. The sharp tang of the cold sweat that had gathered on his face and the back of his neck was prominent as well and the mixture caused bile to rise in the back of his throat, yet another old acquaintance he could have happily gone without meeting again. Meyer was supposed to be green tea, cigarettes and lemon shampoo, not this unmistakable stench of pain and fear.

His hands itched with the need to push one of the paramedics aside, to do something more than just sit aside uselessly. If only he could feel her pulse, make sure that her skin had not turned cold yet, he might be able to convince himself that she would be ok. Instead his hand clenched around the discarded coat, coarse where the red liquid had soaked into it and dried, leaving tiny flakes on his skin when he grabbed it to hard.

How much longer until they got to the hospital?

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