the good don't stayI blinked, shifted and cringed. My body was sore, my mind was cloudy and everything throbbed, especially my feet. I blinked a few more times. Goodness, my eyelids were heavy and my wrists itched—how scratchy the blanket upon my chest was! I took in a deep breath and tried to get past the blurriness. the good don't stay2 years ago in Personal
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"It looks like we have a survivor. How are you feeling?"
Turning my head, I saw a white coat, and as my eyes drifted up, there was a stethoscope, assorted pens stuffed inside a pocket, a clean-shaven chin and grey eyes. I opened my mouth, but closed it again, because my tongue was dry and I really didn't feel like talking to anyone. Honestly, I was awful at dying. Everything was trying to do me in, even myself, but I just wouldn't.
And then shame filled me when what I had done truly sunk in:
I could have died.
I wiggled my fingers—I was alive.
"How am I feeling?" I rasped as my old temper was aroused by the absurdity of the doctor's question. "I feel fine. Absolutely goddamn dandy. N