???, ???, St. Martha's Hospital post-op ward, Sometime around morning.
You finally come around. The clock on the otherwise blank wall tells you it's been four days since the surgery, and the stiffness in your whole body tells you that this is the first time you've woken up since then. You try to to sit up and observe the surroundings. Pale blue hospital gown, the hypodermic needle in your wrist attached to the IV line, and pants. Thank goodness for pants.
Using the IV pole as a support, you manage to get out of bed and stand up on your feet and walk out of the ward. For somebody who literally hasn't consumed anything in a week, you are showing extraordinary superhuman abilities.
Something's wrong. The gigantic corridor is completely empty, save for yourself and your IV pole. Your only companion in :this: world, the IV pole. Where is the usual hustle and bustle? The agonizing screams from the patients? A hospital with no signs of life for miles around. Oh cruel irony.
You find your way out of the hospital building. No humans, no vehicles, nothing. Nada. Zip. It's as empty on the outside as it was inside.
As you turn around and begin walking back to the building, it bursts into flames. St. Martha's hospital, a 200 year old building of extreme importance, historical or otherwise, is now a towering inferno; there's smoke billowing out of the windows, and you hear a gas cylinder exploding somewhere in the distance. Since when do hospitals spontaneously combust? You are no doubt, shocked by the phenomenon, and hurriedly scuttle out of the hospital gates, and step out on to the sand.
Wait, what?
Your impeccable knowledge of geography tells you that there are absolutely no beaches in Bangalore; yet here you are: sand, waves, salty air and the occasional heap of dead seaweed. As soon as you put two-and-two together and realize you aren't where you thought you were anymore, you hear it. That unmistakable melody; the tune of imminent doom.
It's...It's...Wagner.
You're standing on an empty beach in a hospital gown, clutching your IV pole, and 'Rise of the Valkyries' is booming loudly in the background. Could you BE any more out of place?
It's pretty obvious, what's about to happen next. You can already see about a dozen American helicopters rising in the sky, and flying toward the beach. They plan to bomb the beach and then go surfing. You? You are petrified. Scared shitless. Literally.
Even your IV pole can't save you now.
Just then, like some last minute, poorly set up deus-ex-machina, time stops. The choppers are in suspended animation in the sky. The waves are stuck.
And the ground starts to rumble. Before you can even think "Oh hell. Not the crabs again!", the ground shatters and billions of crabs scuttle everywhere. Oh hell, not the crabs again.
The ground isn't sand anymore; it's crabs. Stalk-eyed, broad cephalothorax-ed and foaming at the mouth. You slip and land on your back, and the crabs engulf and swallow you, and you swallow some.
And everything goes blank.
-------------------------------------------
There's a lesson to be learnt here. Too much late-night war literature and films can be fucking horrifying before the exams.
You finally come around. The clock on the otherwise blank wall tells you it's been four days since the surgery, and the stiffness in your whole body tells you that this is the first time you've woken up since then. You try to to sit up and observe the surroundings. Pale blue hospital gown, the hypodermic needle in your wrist attached to the IV line, and pants. Thank goodness for pants.
Using the IV pole as a support, you manage to get out of bed and stand up on your feet and walk out of the ward. For somebody who literally hasn't consumed anything in a week, you are showing extraordinary superhuman abilities.
Something's wrong. The gigantic corridor is completely empty, save for yourself and your IV pole. Your only companion in :this: world, the IV pole. Where is the usual hustle and bustle? The agonizing screams from the patients? A hospital with no signs of life for miles around. Oh cruel irony.
You find your way out of the hospital building. No humans, no vehicles, nothing. Nada. Zip. It's as empty on the outside as it was inside.
As you turn around and begin walking back to the building, it bursts into flames. St. Martha's hospital, a 200 year old building of extreme importance, historical or otherwise, is now a towering inferno; there's smoke billowing out of the windows, and you hear a gas cylinder exploding somewhere in the distance. Since when do hospitals spontaneously combust? You are no doubt, shocked by the phenomenon, and hurriedly scuttle out of the hospital gates, and step out on to the sand.
Wait, what?
Your impeccable knowledge of geography tells you that there are absolutely no beaches in Bangalore; yet here you are: sand, waves, salty air and the occasional heap of dead seaweed. As soon as you put two-and-two together and realize you aren't where you thought you were anymore, you hear it. That unmistakable melody; the tune of imminent doom.
It's...It's...Wagner.
You're standing on an empty beach in a hospital gown, clutching your IV pole, and 'Rise of the Valkyries' is booming loudly in the background. Could you BE any more out of place?
It's pretty obvious, what's about to happen next. You can already see about a dozen American helicopters rising in the sky, and flying toward the beach. They plan to bomb the beach and then go surfing. You? You are petrified. Scared shitless. Literally.
Even your IV pole can't save you now.
Just then, like some last minute, poorly set up deus-ex-machina, time stops. The choppers are in suspended animation in the sky. The waves are stuck.
And the ground starts to rumble. Before you can even think "Oh hell. Not the crabs again!", the ground shatters and billions of crabs scuttle everywhere. Oh hell, not the crabs again.
The ground isn't sand anymore; it's crabs. Stalk-eyed, broad cephalothorax-ed and foaming at the mouth. You slip and land on your back, and the crabs engulf and swallow you, and you swallow some.
And everything goes blank.
-------------------------------------------
There's a lesson to be learnt here. Too much late-night war literature and films can be fucking horrifying before the exams.
3 comments:
Wickedly random...reminds me of my worst nightmares around the exams! (Ahem, one of mine was about running around around the entire city without shoes etc...)
Best of luck for ur exams!
Yeesh, that sounds painful. :[
Haha, thank you! :D
nice post
game chien thuat
adnetwork
digital marketing
Post a Comment