I'm not sure when it began; that feeling of disbelonging.
As far as I knew, I had been somewhat like a ghost my whole life.
Well, I had friends, of course. But never had I ever felt the feeling of belonging.
So I coped with writing. I coped alongside my protagonist.
I had written his story as if I was spending time with a friend. So could you imagine seeing that exact character you once wrote pass by you? As if they weren't fictional?
A fiery redhead passed by me, that same blue robe, hiding his mouth. I could just barely get a glimpse of his iron armour.
I facepalmed. There's no way that had been him. When I looked back, he was gone.
I had a phase in college where I avoided all things creative. Perhaps that's why I don't remember anymore. Yes, that's right. Stacks of typing paper and oil paints used to surround my room. But I chose practicality.
Anyway, let me introduce myself again.
I am Reve Schneider, nurse, and nearing my thirties. I hate all things impractical.
1776, around this time, was considered Anno Impio; a godless year.
This is a cruel ghost's viewpoint.
-
The band outside was far too loud than one could handle. I'd suppose even a deaf man couldn't ignore it.
My eyes remained rested at the woman giving birth in front of me.
The doctor was analyzing the lady with fogged spectacles.
Really. Blood from films was a long way from real blood. Films were in black and white, and reality was too red.
I closed my eyes in an attempt to change the settings of my eyes from colored to black and white or monochrome. Of course, to my dismay, it didn't work.
The lady grunted as I stared at her abdomen, slick with crimson. This was definitely nowhere near a small bleeding scab. My mouth hissed when the doctor touched the blood. As a child, I was told bleeding out is healthy and that it will get rid of the bad blood. I don't believe that anymore, though, I thought as I stared at the bleeding lady.
The doctor said, "It's all right, dear, you can handle it."
The student intern sat on the corner of the room with a clipboard and pen in hand.
I wondered where the father was in the picture but I suppose it would be rude to ask.
The trumpet sound continued to reverberate the room and practically the whole hospital.
I coughed, "Just what is that noise outside?"
Had this been a novel, I would assume that the world was about to end. Well, that is according to certain religions.
I was ignored. The doctor cursed at herself, "Pelvic bone is in the way."
I immediately understood what she meant by that: symphysiotomy method.
The trumpet and drums kept blaring still.
"Nurse Schneider," began the doctor, head jerking to my way. Her words were just barely heard due to the loud trumpet noise. Was there a band just outside of the operating room?
"Yes, Doctor Jang." I handed what had then been called an osteotome. A hand-held mechanical device with sharp metallic teeth that moved swiftly like an automated wood saw. She quickly took it off my hands.
The doctor raised the blanket of the lady, entering her gloved hands, nearing the hand-held chainsaw to the bone.
The pregnant woman winced
I comforted her.
"Do not worry," I said through my mask. "You won't feel a thing."
The bone cutting device buzzed under the blanket.
As the trumpets resounded, I felt a chill down my spine. The woman had been tearing up now.
I do not believe in fate. Not at all. At least, not anymore.
The existence of fate means that there is a god that controls everything. That I am meant to be doing this or that. But my life is shit, so who do I curse?
The woman bellowed and bawled. She wildly hit the hospital bed, the IV drip stand falling to the ground. The fluids dampened the concrete tiles.
I beckoned the student intern named Johnny to hold her down. He understood swiftly and he flattened her shoulders as I did the same to her legs.
"Let me go!" The woman squawked through tears, her hospital gown barely hanging.
In college, I was quite the spiritual person. Even when I was not in the right state of mind or when my brother passed, I continued to believe in a higher being. That what will happen now will lead to a greater good. I believed in karma; that what I do will affect everything and will come back to me
The lady began shaking her body then her legs. The doctor clicked her tongue, "Hold her! The head is showing!" I nodded.
The woman shrieked in tears, "It hurts! It hurts! Let me go!"
The woman lunged off the bed and tackled me. Dark blood splattered on my scrub.
As all of this was happening, the trumpet seemed to have stopped for a moment.
I grabbed the woman's wrists and locked it above her head to keep her from moving any further.
The woman continued to shift wildly like an animal infected with rabies. From my point of view, I could see the child's dark head. My arms began to burn and my legs cramped. The woman began kicking behind her, hitting my crotch and stomach.
I pinned her down with everything I got.
"Madam, push!"
She cried more and more like a child. Grunting with each push, I let her lie on the cold concrete floor, my hands on the head of the child. The doctor stared in doubt.
All was well. Just another patient. Nothing new.
The slimy torso of the child could be seen now. My hands may have been dyed with blood but it had been with my hands that a life was born into this world.
I held the baby, the umbilical cord dragging. I could only look at him in mere seconds when the trumpet howled at the same time a screen popped in front of me and, unbeknownst to me at the time, everyone else on Earth.
The baby slipped out of my hands, falling face down. The metallic smell seemed more harsh.
[You have joined the rounds]
[You are the first person to join the rounds]
[Your prize will be sent to your mail]
My hands remain stained with blood. Still, this was my fate.