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The first time he sees her again, it's agonizing.
There is a blur and spin to the world around him. An ebb and flow of sickness that passes over his senses like syrup. She scrapes it away like shattered glass, pain concentrating at the back of his skull.
"What are you doing up?" He wants to say. "You can't strain yourself like that", or "You need to rest; it was quite taxing", but what comes out is neither nor. It doesn't matter anyways, as she cuts him off with high, loud laughter. Pointing, taunting. He half-giggles back at her, more involuntary politeness than anything, and takes a step forward. She stops.
There's something heavy in her hands; some kind of ship anchor? A dangerous toy, indeed! He closes further distance between them, while she tries to keep pace in reverse.
"You're going to hurt yourself with that." He points at it gently, smile pasted wide on his face. "Children shouldn't be playing with such dangerous things." He doesn't remember her being so inclined to activities like this. Then again, patients have lives outside of when they are sickly(, unlike himself).
"Back off! I'm here to save Johnny!" She so casually swings the lump of steel towards him, with a whoosh of air that nearly tips him over. In his surprise, he spins with it, instead. "Are you listening to me, old man!?"
Slightly wobbling, he continues his pursuit with purpose. "Oh, there's no need to shout! Didn't I tell you it would be quick? Weren't you home just as fast as I promised?"
Her face scrunches up in further annoyance as he barely avoids a chop of her new toy. "I don't know what you're talking about, I'm just here to win this stupid tournament!" She enunciates it with another slice, "get out-" and another, "of my way!"
And she finally connected with his upper body, clipping part of Baldhead's face while striking his torso. It knocks him off his feet in a way that's almost comedic, and over the explosion of pain taking up his consciousness he can just barely her her laughing at him.
But he is more than aware of her walking closer, a hand on her hip as she gloats, in the way that children often do.
Head swimming, he firmly grips his scalpel in one hand, and as she turns away, sweeps her legs with the blunt end. She falls on her side with an ugly noise as Baldhead looks over her (as he does everyone, all smiles and love), keeping the end of the scalpel firm against the middle of her ribs. "Don't worry!" He smiles gently at her again, looking somewhere behind her. She can't tell; she stares at him like a snared animal all the while. "You're just a little sick. I told you I'd fix it, right?"
"Get away from me." She steels her face, but in the end, she's still a child. He watches as she tries to grab for her anchor, growing more panicked as she feels around in the firt behind her.
(Silently, it had been moved about five meters behind her. For her own safety.)
"Can you hear me!? Buzz off!" She continues, the edge in her voice something clearly unfamiliar to her. "Hey, I-I'll leave! I'll let you win the stupid thing if you just let me go!"
"Please don't strain your voice." He spins his scalpel with a flourish that the older children always loved, something so daunting to them. The sharp end points straight at her heart. He can feel it beating. "I'm going to make it all better, alright? What kind of doctor would I be if I failed you?"
She's trying to come up with something to say. He can tell by that searching look in her eyes. Why would she have anything to say to him? How could she? The thought drags him around. How is she talking to him, how is she here?
Wait, wait, something's wrong...
his hands go rigid and he
He's holding onto something. It isn't his scalpel. And his ribs hurt. There are teeth missing from his mouth. There is blood. There is no screaming. But there is no silence.
Instead, there are small sounds. Slowing thuds against his chest. Muttering. Hands against fabric, gripping his gloves and trying to pull his hands away. Small, weak gasps of breath.
"I'm sorry." The syllables mix together, over and over again.
His hands are
(he squeezes tighter)
(In vertebrate anatomy, the throat is the front part of the neck, internally positioned in front of the vertebrae. It contains the pharynx and larynx. An important section of it is the epiglottis, separating the esophagus from the trachea (windpipe),)
aching, trembling things, and that is not how it is supposed to be. This is not.
(The throat contains various blood vessels, pharyngeal muscles, the nasopharyngeal tonsil, the tonsils, the palatine uvula, the trachea, the esophagus, and the vocal cords.)
This is not how it's supposed to be.
(Stop talking)
She kicks him in the ribs again, and something snaps. She's gotten so strong since she's bled out in front of him! Since she laid there half open and broken and broken and now she
(It works with the mouth, ears and nose, as well as a number of other parts of the body. Its pharynx is connected to the mouth, allowing speech to occur, and food and liquid to pass down the throat.)
(You're killing her again.)
You're killing her again.
(Although people ordinarily use speech in dealing with other persons (or animals), when people swear they do not always mean to communicate anything to anyone, and sometimes in expressing urgent emotions or desires they use speech as a quasi-magical cause, as when they encourage a player in a game to do or warn them not to do something.)
You're killing her again.
(There are also many situations in which people engage in solitary speech. People talk to themselves sometimes in acts that are a development of what some psychologists (e.g., Lev Vygotsky) have maintained is the use of silent speech in an interior monologue to vivify and organize cognition, sometimes in the momentary adoption of a dual persona as self addressing self as though addressing another person.)
You're killing her for the first time again and
(In vertebrates, it is composed suspended in which constitutes 55% is (92% ), and contains proteins, glucose, mineral ions, hormones, dioxide and
"BLOOD"He shrieks "BLOOD" as the drops from his face make it to her clothes he grabs his head he screams and hears her gasping for breath and he can do nothing about it. There's nothing he can do about there's nothing he can There's never anything he can do. He can't stop it.
She limps and shouts and runs as fast as she can as he watches her grab the anchor and he screams and she screams back a
(doesn't she deserve this?)
nd she swings and
(a naturally recurring state of mind and body, characterized by altered consciousness, relatively inhibited sensory activity, reduced muscle activity and inhibition of nearly all voluntary muscles)
(He does not meet her again.)
(instead, she rots in his dreams.)