Sleep Syndrome

I have been half asleep for as long as I can recall. Not that I remember much.
I see the same scene every day through half-closed eyes: a white bed, white sheets, white walls. Busy people dressed in blue, green and pink run past the small window into my room. They always run. I want to tell them to stop, to just sit for a moment. I want to tell them to slow down.
But I can't. And so the day goes on.
I can hear faint noises from outside; a car, a shout, a laugh. But I do not know where they come from or how they pierce through this shroud of sleep.
Nurses come in every so often. They smile and sometimes even talk to my still form. I do not know how they do it, how they can talk to me when I can give them no reply. I want to, though. I wish with all my heart that, even if I could never leave this bed, I could reply when they ask me how I am feeling.
But I can't. And so the day goes on.
I watch the sunlight move across my wall. It starts off high in one corner, then gradually falls and slides across until it vanishes. I always watch the sunlight, but when it rains I have little to watch. Then I listen.
I have heard so many secret conversations since I arrived. I have heard stories of love, loss, betrayal, secret hate. I have heard plots formed, people cry to one another, laugh together. If I could tell only half of what I have heard, I could help so many, hurt so many.
But I can't. And so the day goes on.
My parents visit sometimes. They are shown in and handed chairs upon which they sit. My mother looks at me, my father looks away. Both look sad, even though they try to smile.
I do not understand why they try to smile when they are in such pain. If I were that sad, I would cry.
They sit in silence for a while, just watching me with sad, dark eyes. Then they speak.
“Hello, dear. How are you feeling today?” My mother is always the first to start talking. “I hope you're not too warm. They leave the heating on here even during Summer.”
I wonder if perhaps I am too warm. But I do not know.
“Helen's doing well. She's just passed her SATs and we already know where we want to send her.” Mother continues, beaming. I want to smile back, but my lips do not move. My little sister is already grown up. She must be the same age as I was when I first fell into this sleep.
“We're going away for a little bit.” My father speaks now, in his rough voice. He does not look at me. “We won't be able to visit you for a while. But don't worry, we'll... we'll be back soon.”
He reaches out and clutches my mother's hand. Then they stand as a nurse enters.
They discuss something so quietly, I cannot hear them. They all examine a black clipboard.
“There have been no changes, but there's still time.” The nurse says calmly.
My mother and father glance at each other, then at me. I want to ask them why their eyes are so wide.
“Isn't there anything else we can do?” My mother asks.
A pause. Then the nurse shakes her head and leaves. My parents gather their coats, ready to leave too. They smile, they force their lips to curve. They both raise one hand.
I want to ask them why they are so sad. I want to ask them to take me home with them.
But I can't. And so day turns to night.
The lights never fully turn off in my room. Even when it is pitch black in the halls, streetlights shine through the small window that must be behind me. The monitor next to me flashes. It shows my heart rate, I think, and another line.
The hospital is quiet at night, but not silent. I hear footsteps every so often, tapping against the polished floors. Sometimes, I hear shouting as a body on a stretcher is rushed past my room. But mostly, I hear the beeps that tell me my life is still going on.
Sometimes, I want to cry. Sometimes, I become so lonely I wish I were dead. But that only happens at night, and anyway, wishes do not come true. If they did, I would have been able to stand up, to walk out of here, to shout for my parents.
I used to wish for silly little things, like money or a holiday or for the school to burn down. I used to wish on my birthday as I blew out the candles. I hoped with all my heart those wishes would come true.
And then I fell asleep. I remember exactly how it happened, down to the smallest detail. I must have repeated the memory a million times. It is all I can think of sometimes.
The bathroom. I look at the radio on the side. I cannot hear it. I feel annoyed. I reach over.
That is all I remember before I slept.
Now, if I could wish for anything, I would wish to wake up. I would wish to never sleep again.
I wish I could turn back time, but I do not know if my future would change. Regardless, I would wish with all my strength.
But wishes do not come true. And so night turns to morning, and the darkness is gone.