A familiar smell was tickling his nose, the anesthetic odor of a place for the sick and dying. It’s strange how one of the first things we notice is the smell of a place, even though we often deem it uninteresting and concentrate on the dazzling visuals, or the orchestra of loud noise filling our world.
The smell of a hospital seems to be different though. It sticks. It makes people uncomfortable.
Why? Who knows, maybe it reminds them of their mortality.
The man lying in the blankets had been painfully reminded of that.
He chose to leave his eyes closed for a little longer. Now that his conscious was back, the pain started to surface. He was still alive. Gradually he became aware of a gritting headache, his bruised chest and the sharp pain in his limbs.
Why was he alive?
Space is dangerous. Every pilot ends up in a hospital or a coffin sooner or later. Well, not really, most just burn alive in their exploding ships. He had seen people die this way. More than once he had been the one to kill them. But wasn’t he a bloody hero? No, heroes do not exist. For all his good intentions, he was still just a murderer. Wouldn’t it be fair if it was his turn to die now?
The increasing pain in his left arm made him open his eyes eventually. He squinted as he was blinded by the bright light in the white room for a few seconds until his eyes could adjust.
Trying to sit up didn’t go well as he was incredibly weak and his body cried out in pain.
He let himself fall back onto the bed again and concentrated on trying to find out where he was.
As far as he could tell the room was a pretty generic hospital room with nothing hinting at any kind of personality. A painting of some flower was hung upon the wall.
This must have been the first flower he had seen in ages.
Somehow these few actions had made him very tired again, or maybe the drugs started to kick in again. With a sigh he closed his eyes before falling back into the blissful oblivion of sleep.
---
“Mr. Degroot?” He turned his head upon hearing this. That guy again. A warm smile appeared on the face of the older man. “How do you feel?”
He nodded slowly, as if thinking about it thoroughly before he answered “Is that a serious question?”
The doctor’s smile froze for a second before he nodded understandingly. “I know you’re angry and frustrated because of your ... condition. However, we need to know if we’re making any progress. So, is the pain in your …left arm still there?”
He stared at the empty left side of the white bed, already moving his right arm, but then stopping in the middle of it.
“Quite so…”
“I understand.” The doctor quickly wrote something down before meeting his gaze again. “Well, we’ll release you in a few days. Unfortunately we reached the limits of what we can do for you.”
“I see. Thanks anyway.” The other man nodded and then left the room.
It wasn’t the end of the world, was it? The little stump at his left shoulder stared at him.
He was alive, wasn’t he? Just one part less, though some would say a very important part less.
It’s quite strange how something that’s not even there can hurt the most. Just like when you lose a close friend, or a family member. It’s the holes and gaps in our lives that make us despair.
A deep sigh escaped him. Where could he go from here anyway? He had no illusions about ever flying a spaceship again. Actually finding any kind of work would prove difficult.
There was nothing he had left. He was a ruin, a completely useless wreck.
But well, he was alive.
