Fade
The white cotton gown wraps around my jaundiced flesh,
giving a small sense of comfort from the harsh stiffness of the hospital sheets.
The IV drips nutrients and narcotics as the machines around me beep in unison.
I’m chained to this bed, unable to leave.
My eyes start to dull like faded watercolors.
I look down, disappointment radiating as the doctors run test after test.
No matter how many times they draw blood or do biopsies, there’s still no answer.
The years of deterioration don’t have a reason.
There must be a cure, some medical solution;
a way to slow this disease’s progression.
All my veins rise to the surface with every injection.
The doctors continue to pump me full of pollution.
The morphine breaks down my threshold,
leaving the pain to use my body as its personal playground.
I’m becoming more nervous as the weeks turn to months.
All I can do is escape to the recesses of my mind.
My systems are shutting down.
Kidneys, liver, lungs—one after the next.
Black rivers of sadness run freely down my mother’s cheeks.
My chest tightens with guilt as I take her quivering hand, forcing out a smile.
The passing of days blend in the sterile light of the room.
Day and night blur together in the haze of my mind.
It becomes too hard to fight back the sleep.
Who knew today I would say my final goodnight…
Megan Stewart is a writer and budding visual artist whose work is raw, visceral, and uninterested in looking away. Storytelling, in any form, has always been the thing she can't walk away from. Megan is also the co-founder of Helia Lit, because apparently one creative obsession was never going to be enough. When she isn't writing, she's probably watching Formula 1 and making it everyone's problem.
