Member-only story
Please Wear Black (And Gold) to My Funeral
Eugene woke up sitting next to his body. Machines stood silently next to a hospital bed. Someone had unhooked his wires and flung them over the back of the bed. The calendar in the corner had a picture of sunflowers, but the window revealed a snow-covered parking lot. The television quietly played an episode of MASH.
Eugene tipped his head to the side. Coma? Had I been in a coma?
He got out of the beige armchair and took a hesitant step toward the bed. His body looked like it always had, the mole on his right temple, the scar on his left shoulder from when he fell off the back on a chair as a child. Brown hair tossed as he had just got out of bed.
Pneumonia? The snow is pretty. Can someone die of pneumonia?
Eugene placed a hand on the bedsheet and gasped. He lifted a transparent hand to examine it. He could see the silent machines through his palm. He flipped his hand over. Eugene stared at his wedding ring as he heard voices in the hallway.
He took a few quick steps toward the door and peered out. People in scrubs ran this way and that. Through the sea of blue, a woman in a cream pants suit stomped down the hall. Chased by three nurses, the woman swung her designer handbag back and forth as she walked like an Olympic runner down the hall.
