I open my eyes to darkness. I’m sure someone spoke. The window’s gone, so I can’t look into the corridor anymore, and its been replaced by an enormous TV screen that covers the entire wall. It’s been left on but there’s nothing playing, just black and white static and a low hum coming from the speakers. Great. This is probably Jane making my last week a bit easier. I wonder where she is now, probably at home in the bath or something, or drinking a glass of wine with her boyfriend or whatever. I bet she’s not thinking of me now is she, making plans or discussing the A3 or whatever it is that she does.
“Wake up John.”
Hey, hey, hey, calm down, I’m awake.
“Good. How are you?”
Will you stop asking me that question?
“Oh, okay, fine. No movement then. Still swimming in that lake of self-pity? Still indulging yourself? “
Look. I’ve got a week to live. Seriously, really, give me a break.
“A week, yes. That’s right. A3 patient, a week to live.”
What’s wrong with me anyway? What is A3?
“You don’t know?”
No. Otherwise I wouldn’t need to ask the fucking question. What is it?
“A3. I’ll tell you what it is. It’s bad, that’s what it is. It’s terminal. No coming back from that.”
Oh, great, thanks again. This is going to be a short story.
“What do you miss most, John? No, let me ask, what will you miss most?”
Loads. I’ll miss loads. I’ll miss…
“Go on”
Well… going to the pub.
“And sitting by yourself”
Watching horror films
“By yourself”
Look what is this, another dissection of my life? I mean, Jesus, leave it.
“Yeah, don’t pin the Jesus thing on me.”
Excuse me?
“It doesn’t matter. My point is this. You’re a bit of a sad case. But I think you have potential, John. I think you can get things done, you just haven’t really had the chance. So I don’t want you to give up just yet”
Somewhere inside my mind I start to worry about this conversation I have with this husky voiced lady, assuming she is a lady and not just a voice, is this just something that happens in moments of acute personal stress? Do we all get voices bouncing inside our heads or is it just me? The thing is, though, it really doesn’t seem to matter. If I’m going mad, so what. In fact it may even be a good thing, will take the edge off, I can start to indulge in some really weird fantasies and just forget my current problems. Go, strange, formless woman, go voice, bring it on.
“Will you concentrate, please?”
Yeah, sorry, it must be really important. Who the hell are you anyway?
“Ha ha, yes you would like to know. You will understand eventually. My point is I can help you.”
Help me go mad, yes, I’m sure you can.
“No, no, no John, not go mad. You’re not going mad. I can help you with much more than that. I can help you escape.”
Of course you can. You’ve got something that reverses an A3, which if I remember right is some seriously bad shit, as you told me yourself. No escaping from that one, you said.
“Hey, so I lied. I prefer the drama that way. Everything can be escaped from. It’s the rules.”