David

    I don’t think anyone knows what they take for granted until it’s taken away from them. For me it was life. I’d taken everything for granted. I wasn’t super rich and conceited and spoiled. I just liked my life.

    Let’s start over.

    Waking up. I felt like I hadn’t. But I could feel the crisp sheets of the hospital bed scratching my skin, hear the murmurs behind the walls and in the other rooms, smell the antiseptic on the gashes where the windshield shards dug. These things I could do more so than ever before, and it scared me.

    Waking up includes opening the eyes. No one truly wakes until they are aware of their surroundings with every sense. I felt hyper aware of everything around me, but I hadn’t even opened my eyes yet.

    My eyes wouldn’t open. I strained, but the darkness remained. When I shouted for help, my own voice sounded too loud; when I swung out for some physical form of support, the bang on the stand felt like a thousand needles had just been pushed into my hand.

    They came in; they soothed. Tried to, at least. But I knew: my eyes were open, They said. I was awake, They said. But all I could see was darkness.

    I wish it wasn’t this way.

   I would never wake up.