RWC #39

CRISIS

The wrist band said "breathe."  He opened his eyes slowly again, and checked to make sure that he had read it right.  "breathe", it said.  He tried...inhale.  Oh my, but that hurt!  Exhale quickly.  Inhale, but not deep.  Still hurt, but not as bad.  Exhale.  The things at the other end of the room were a blur to him.  Was that a door?  Where was he, again?  He tried to focus, but his eyes weren't functioning properly.  In fact, the only thing that seemed to be functioning normally, aside from his mind, which was in a state of panic, was his lungs, though he feared he had broken some ribs.

He tried to focus his mind, to take shallow breaths, so his brain would get enough oxygen so he could concentrate.  The last thing he remembered was the phone ringing.  He couldn't remember who had called.  And then he woke up here, on the floor, far from lucid, and hurting. He hated being unable to help himself.  He was a man, dammit, he should at least be able to get himself to a phone.  His disgust at his weakness puffed past his lips as he exhaled again.

He thought about his children.  Three of them all grown, the youngest just out of college. What if they never found him?  What if he died before anyone noticed he was missing?  He had not always been a kind father.  In fact, as he lay there, trying to feel his feet, he remembered the many times he had made their lives a living hell.  He knew they resented him, even if now they were grown they understood his way.  He suddenly wished he could take back some of the harsh words he had spoken to them, and given them more of his time, his patience, and his love.

Breathing was becoming more difficult now, even shallow breathing.  He puffed carefully, trying to stem the rising panic that threatened to swamp him.  He had to keep breathing till help came.  He berated himself for not letting his daughter get him the "child minder" as he had called it then.  If he had it now, he could press the button, and someone would have been there already.  Stupid pride!  It would be the death of him!

Best not to think about death.  he was old, but he wasn't ready to die.  The great beyond could wait a while longer.  He had no one there who wished to see him.  He thought with regret of the mother of his children.  He had loved her, but he had never known how to show her.  He supposed she could not be blamed for thinking his work was more important to him than she was.  But he never understood why she couldn't see that he was doing it for them, for their future.

They never had a future.  Once she started relying on his brother, and he let it happen, their marriage was over.  No use to lie to himself now, though at the time he was blind with fury.  He really had screwed up his life - the love of his life lost to him, a brother estranged, and children who hated his guts.  

The emotions he had fought his whole lifetime not to feel welled up inside him.  He struggled to hold them back.  He had to breathe, to live until someone came to find him.  He couldn't waste his breath on feelings.  They would only cause him more pain.  He couldn't afford any more pain.  He couldn't feel his legs, but his arms hurt, and his neck - and breathing hurt like a bitch.  Where was help?  Why had no one come?  How long had it been?

He looked over at the wrist band again.  Whose was it?  Where was he?  He couldn't remember, though he pushed his mind to think. Was this what Alzheimer's was like?  Did he have Alzheimer's?  Why couldn't he remember?  He felt the panic rising again, and he cried out with the pain of it against his broken ribs.

"Mr. Holley!  Mr. Holley!  Are you in there?"  He heard the voice, a door creaking, and then footsteps.   

Breathe.  He must remember to breathe.

Copyright © 2010 by Teri K D Bannerman

For more, read here--->Challenge 39