Skips A Beat ::Wattys2016::

Chapter 25

Michael hasn't been awake at all in the past 36 hours. That's a hell of a long time. Yesterday, he stopped breathing on his own, meaning that a ventilator had to be brought in for him. It sounds like a dragon or something. Click, click, click, whoosh. They put the tube through his mouth. There are three ways they could have done it, the first way is through the nose, which wouldn't be too bad, the second is through the mouth, which also isn't too bad after they got the whole tube in there, and the last way is through the neck. They literally go through a hole in the neck. I'm glad that they didn't do that one. Karen's sick, she took one look at Michael hooked up to the machine and puked. So, it's just me.

Which I don't mind at all. I've been reading things to him all morning. Sure, it's just my project instructions for school, but still. It's the thought that counts. I'm pretty sure that even if he can hear me, he's ignoring me like usual. I sigh, not understanding the project at all. I think we're supposed to match the DNA to...something... and make a third species? Is that even possible?

Click, click, click, whoosh.

I look up at Michael, watching as the machine pumps in air, raising his chest for him. This isn't what I wanted for him. I was hoping that he would die quickly. No pain. But, here he is. Hurting because he's still alive thanks to a tube pushed through his esophagus.

Click, click, click, whoosh.

I kinda wish that Daryl and Karen would tell them to turn it off. Turn the machine off and just let him die. He has to be miserable. It sounds sort of... awful for me to say that, but it's the truth. Nobody should have to rely on a machine to be alive, especially if there's no chance of survival. There's no point.

Click, click, click, whoosh.

I move over next to him, sitting on a chair. I can't sit with him on the bed anymore. I take his hand, which is dried out, and play with his fingers. He used to love when I played with his fingers, and his hair. Can he even feel it now? I sniffle, withdrawing my hands to wipe at my eyes.

I lean over to grab the book we have to read in English. It's a book of Sonnets. Great, poetry. Read the sarcasm. I flip to the last page to read the number. 394.

"Hey, Mikey. There's 394 pages," I giggle, pulling my best Severus Snape voice, "turn to page 394." I laugh again, because I'm funny. If Michael were awake, he would find it funny, too. I flip to the first page.

"Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?" I read aloud. "It's a book of the best sonnets." I tell Michael. "Anyhow, Shall I compare thee to a summer's day? Everyone knows this line from a famous sonnet by William Shakespeare." I yawn, already struggling to read this. "A sonnet is a poem with fourteen lines, using any of a number of rhyming schemes. Read this sonnet by William Shakespeare and answer the following questions," I groan, "this will be fun, eh?" I reach out, reattaching my hand with his. I stroke my thumb across the top of his hand as I continue reading.

"Shall I compare thee to a summer's day? Thou art more lovely and more temperate," I read aloud. "Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May, and summer's lease hath all too short a date; Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines," click, click, click, whoosh "And often is his gold complexion dimm'd; And every fair from fair sometime declines," click click click whoosh. "By chance or nature's changing course untrimm'd; But thy eternal summer shall not fade,
Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow'st; Nor shall death..."

A new noise fills the air. It's not the constant beep of the heart monitor, and it isn't the whooshing. It's a high pitched... screeching. It's hurting my ears. My heart thumps in my chest as I look up. Every fear that I've ever had in my entire life, is outweighed by the horror when I see the screen. He's flatlining. The book drops from my hand, and I look over at Michael.