Escape

I wake up to my right foot itching. I rub it on the sheet.

The last thing I remember was the crash. Maria and I were riding our rented scooter through the Carpathian Mountains. Nearing dusk, we decided to head back down towards the villa. As we weaved our way downward, we were blinded by headlights coming around the bend. It was a narrow road, and the oncoming vehicle was enormous. I immediately ran out of asphalt, losing control. I think I remember telling my Maria to hold on. Even more foggy was the blurred sight of the two men dressed in blue helping me into the back of a white van.

I lay in a mundane hospital bed with some redundant political crap airing on the television in a language I can't make out. Gray daylight seeps through the curtains of my window, providing the only light in the room other than the TV. I can feel the cool liquid entering my left arm, granting me the serenity to pass the time. This must be the feeling that fuels a new addiction. Every new drop of Morphine is a new set of fingers through my hair. I am physically sated, but still very anxious. I ask why I'm restrained, but I get no answer. I assume somewhere down the hall my girlfriend Maria is being treated. I ask about her, but they keep feeding me basic responses like I'm a child asking a stupid question. "Rest," they tell me. Right. The nurses are in and out, keeping me alive, but don't seem to be doing a great job of informing me of my status.

I hear a scream. It sounds like Maria. My hand reaches for the call button. The nurse comes in and starts checking my machines. Again, I ask about my girlfriend, this time adding the recognition of her screaming. The nurse keeps checking on my IV, and making sure my wounds are sufficiently dressed. She finally acknowledges my concerns, and ensures me she will go find out what's going on. I take her stupid pain pills so she will hurry up.

My eyelids are heavy, and seem to be glued closed. Finally I am able to open them, and I quickly realize I've been moved. The room with the window and television has been replaced with concrete, with a very bright light overhead. I am squinting, but I can make out a couple of nurses in the corner of the room with their backs to me. They seem to be speaking, but I can't make out what they're saying. These European hospitals are very different from back home. They finish their conversation and leave the room. Or cell. Or whatever this new place is. As they close the door, I notice it is made of metal, and has a small opening near the top with bars on it. After a brief moment, the light in my room clicks off loudly. Sounds of industrial lighting turning off echo through the air, and I can tell the area is much bigger than my room. The hair on my entire body stands at attention. Everything is quiet. I find the courage to test the darkness after a few seconds. Saying "Hello?" I barely recognize my own voice. It sounds like me, but the tone was that of a scared puppy. Nothing. For what seems like minutes, there is nothing.

Finally, a red light turns on to the right of the door, and I can hear steps on the concrete in the hall. Thirty four steps halt at my door, and someone takes a deep breath. The door whines open, and a chubby man in his fifties enters. He is wearing a rubber apron. He is holding something in his hand, but I can't tell what it is. It doesn't take me long to figure it out, as he plugs it into the wall and it spins to life in his hand. I am sweating, and shaking violently as I stare him straight in the eye. He breaks eye contact, wipes his brow, and can only muster "Прости. Sorry." As the blade hits my shin, I shout so loud the back of my throat catches on fire. I pass out.

The air is cool. I am still alive. My eyes are groggy, like I am waking a year-long dream. My right foot itches again. I try to rub it on the sheet to scratch it, just like before. This time, however, I can't. My right foot no longer exists. I'd always heard that recently amputated limbs still feel attached, but I'd always been skeptical. My mind immediately goes into survival mode, as I shut down emotionally and look for anything that can aid my escape. Minutes go by, and surveying the room leaves me downtrodden. The nurse comes in to dress my new wound. I realized moments ago I am no longer restrained. I guess they don't find me a flight risk with only one foot. This is my chance.

I whisper to the nurse, almost inaudibly. I have removed my IV, but she doesn't know this. She hears me, and comes around to my left side to try to understand. The IV needle pierces her left eye perfectly, and she shrieks so loudly the whole building feels her pain, and she crashes to the floor in agony. I roll off the hospital bed and land on her, and quickly have my hands around her neck. I can feel her dying, right there in my palms. Her pulse is weakening. Her one good eye fixated on me.

Someone comes up behind me and grabs my hair and yanks my head backwards. I am still holding on to the nurse's neck. A beautiful roar of accomplishment comes out of my mouth before it is quickly stuffed with a cloth. I smell a pungent smell of ether, and I am staring straight into the eyes of the man who rented me the scooter. I struggle for seconds, before my world goes black.