How To Save A Life.

I entered this for the competition "Inspired by a song."
I hope you like it!


3. 3

Dear Em,


    Maybe pulling the curtains back further helped yesterday, because you definitely look less like your white pillow and more like an actual human being. This morning I decided to look out of your window, but it’s surprisingly high up on the wall, so I used that chair I mentioned in my first letter to lift me up a bit more. At one point, because the floor’s a bit slippery, I almost fell so I looked around to where you were with a huge grin on my face, expecting you to be there laughing at me. Of course, you weren’t.

    I was close to starting to laugh again when I saw what was outside your window. Not happy laughing though, but more like that uncomfortable laughing that people do when they’re unsure of how else to respond to a situation. Sitting on the opposite side of the road, grey headstones shooting into the sky, was a cemetery. It’s a nice one, I have to say, but not the most appropriate thing to build a hospital by. There are bundles of flowers by each grave, and yew trees dotted around the small enclosure. I almost closed the curtains right there and then, because for some irrational reason I felt like even the presence of death would draw you towards a place that you couldn’t come back from. I didn’t, but now I sit here writing this and can feel a strange suffocating sense of something in the room that seems far too ominous for me to be completely at ease here. I’m sure it’s nothing though.

    I brought a card with me today. I met up with loads of people from our class really early this morning. And when I say early, I mean sunrise-early. We sat on the cliffs by the beach right next to your house and watched as the sun climbed higher and higher into the sky. It looked like the waves were on fire and the sky was burning with them. I don’t remember us talking for most of the time we were together, sitting far too near to the edge of the cliff to be safe, picking blades of grass and letting the wind carry them off to who knows where. It was like the whole world was silent, apart from the gentle “hush” noise of the small pebbles when the waves tumbled over them. Eventually, when the blazing intensity of the sky had calmed down, someone pulled out a huge sheet of card and some markers.

    So now, at the end of your bed, is a bright orange card filled with messages and names of all our friends from school wishing you luck and asking you to get better soon. On the front is a picture of you in a superman cape, flying from your hospital bed. We’d love you to wake up soon so that you can see it.

    I hope it helps, knowing that there are so many people who want you back in this world, rather than stuck half way between it; feeling the warmth of life on your back, and the piercing coldness of death on your front. Again, sorry, I’m getting melodramatic now. I just want you to know that we’re all waiting for you to come back and join us. Even your older sister visits you everyday, and if that isn’t enough of a shock to wake you up, I don’t know what is. To tell you the truth, I still don’t quite believe that you’re related to each other.

    Just a second ago, when I was writing the last sentence, a thought struck me and it’s too big of a thought not to write down. What if you don’t want to come back? What if you feel safe and comfortable lying there now and you don’t want to come back to the increasingly more volatile real world? I mean, I wouldn’t really blame you if you decided to make the decision not to come back, because it does seem like a nice idea being able to forget everything and leave it behind. The fact that this is possible and a perfectly sane decision to make makes me feel a bit sad actually. Sad because it might be one that you actually take.

    I know I don’t have much say in what you decide to do (and yeah I’m your best friend and everything, but I can’t make the choice for you), but broken things can be fixed. Smashed vases can be super-glued, ripped trousers can be sewn, so why can’t you be mended? You must be able to fix a human being, surely? You’re like one of those old, dusty dolls that people sometimes find in their attic. Seemingly wrong for a little while, but then after a dust and a clean you’ll be all better! No one I know would be willing to throw a doll that means so much to them away, so don’t think you’ll be alone when you wake up.


No offence by calling you a dirty doll though,

Lots of love,

Your superhero-partner-in-crime friend.

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