MicroHorror

There it is again, that beeping noise. I finally give in to it and wake up. That’s strange; my eyes are already open. I can see vague gray shapes in my field of vision but can’t quite force them into focus.

“Doctor, his eyes are moving. I think he sees me!” A far-off voice sounds like my wife.

“Yes, I can see you!” I yell. Nothing comes out, though, not even a peep.

“I’m sorry, Mary,” I hear a strange voice saying. “It is involuntary. Look, his brain wave activity is still essentially zero. The impact was just too much for his brain; your husband is gone.”

“Don’t believe him!” I try to shout. Nothing. My hands don’t respond either. I can’t even keep my eyes pointing the same direction.

“Doctor, I know he’s in there.” She is weeping as she says this. Good girl, Mary, don’t let this quack talk you into anything.

“Does he have a living will? Did he want his organs donated?” The doctor keeps up with his crazy talk.

“He did fill out his organ donor card,” she says quietly. “I know he didn’t want to be kept alive by artificial means. Are you sure…” Her voice trails off.

“I do want to be kept alive! Mary, I’m in here! Mary, look at me again!” With everything I have, I try to move something, say something, do something. Nothing.

“I’m sorry, Mary. I’ll give you a few minutes alone with him.” I hear the sound of the door closing and sweet Mary’s crying.

“Donald, how can I go on? What about the kids? How could you do this to me? I love you, Donald, and I’ll always miss you.” I hear her almost incomprehensible stream of anger and grief.

“Mary, I love you!” my strangely disembodied lips won’t say. After some amount of time I hear the door open and the doctor’s consoling voice. I feel cables being disconnected and much, much later that annoying beeping finally stops.