Dead Mans Pulse

I was driving so fast I could barely see where I was going. My hand was carefully cupped over my mouth to avoid any blood from spraying on the windshield. I could feel beads of sweat rolling down my cheek, trickling down onto my lap. My hair whipped across my face as I flew down the road with an open window.

Suddenly my chest tightened and sent a rush of sickly air up through my throat. Something warm and thick like syrup accompanied it on its exit. I moved my hand hands away from my mouth to see the same thing I had been seeing for the past thirty minutes. The deep red blood dripped in smooth motions from my fingertips. It fell from one finger to another. As it fell from the last one it danced in the breeze that came in from the open window.

I grasped onto the steering wheel and punched down on the accelerator pedal. In a matter of seconds I was speeding down the road at ninety miles per hour. The car screamed in anguish as it zoomed past red lights and stop signs. A whirlwind of excess blood was thrown around the car from my mouth. The blood splattered on the windscreen and all over the dashboard. It did not matter; all that mattered was reaching the hospital. I spun the steering wheel and the car burst into the hospital car park. It sped into the emergency parking space and I struggled with my seatbelt. I tried to compose myself but the minute my foot hit touched the ground hysteria took over. I lunged into the hospital, exhausted and out of breath. My lungs took one last breath and I fell to my knees. The nurse at the counter leaned over and shouted something at me, but I could not hear it. The only thing I could make out was the pulse of my heart beating in my ears. My lungs tightened up as I spat another dose of blood on the ground. I begun to lose consciousness but was tugged back into reality as a doctor and nurse pushed me down into a wheelchair.

The doctor began to bombard me with questions: What had I eaten? Had I taken any drugs? Do I have any allergies? I did not have time to answer one before the next is asked. The doctor examined my throat with a strange looking device.

“Where should I take him?” asked the worried looking nurse.

“To the nosebleed ward” responded the doctor in a monotonous tone.

This revelation stunned me. The had a nosebleed ward? My mouth had become a faucet for my blood and they wanted to put me in a nosebleed ward? This was too much. The hauntingly plain hallway with pure white walls faded to black as I passed out.

I awoke when the nurse settled me into a hospital bed.

“Is this the…nosebleed ward?” I asked groggily

“No” she replied briskly and hurried off. I looked around. My bed had no privacy but the other two did. I coughed up more blood. I laid my head down and stared at the ceiling. Everything was silent except for the continuous beep….beep….beep of a machine. I turned my head to the left to see the offender, a man whose detested heartbeat monitor continually shattered my peace. He did move, he did not even seem like he was breathing but the heart monitor told me he was. The constant beeping was like an itch that could not be scratched. I winced at each of his declarations of life. Beep…beep….beep.

I tried to concentrate so hard on the silence that my head started to hurt and my eyes shook. I thought ‘how the hell can I get better if I feel myself getting worse’ and not only that but I began to think that my sanity was slipping. I grabbed the ‘call nurse’ button and frantically started pressing button. My sheets were completely covered in blood and the beeping had still not gone away. Maybe that was why I reacted the way I did when the nurse entered and asked me if anything was wrong. I started screaming. I screamed of all my worries and all my problems. I screamed of how I was sick and the doctors would not help me. I shouted of how I wanted to leave and go home. I was so loud I barely noticed the beeping had stopped. I stopped shouting and watched the nurse turn to the man on my left. The beeping had turned into one continuous beep. The nurse sat on a stool next to the bed, tears gathered in her eyes. I watched as one by one the small drops rolled down her pale white skin and began to hang on her chin. Her bottom jaw quivered and the tears dropped down onto her lap. She rested her hands on her knees and tried to control herself but eventually she broke down and cried.

I was not dying. I wasn’t even close. I had popped a blood vessel in my nose, which formed blood clots in my throat. These clots had irritated my throat, initiating a cough that caused a harsh vibration which in turn popped more clots. It was nothing serious. I belonged in the nosebleed ward. The man on my left died that night; the doctor said it was a heart attack, if it was because of my tantrum I’ll never know. That man had a wife and kids. His wife was a nurse. It didn’t take me long to piece together my atrocious crime. I had called the man’s wife into the room and then I killed him in front of her.

I returned home at six the next morning. I tried to forget it all; the nosebleed ward, the blood, the dead man. It did not truly matter I thought. Just as I thought I had found peace at last I found my silence broken once more. I tried to shake it out of my head and convince myself that it was not real, that I was imagining it but I realised there was nothing I could do. The sound was stuck in my head and I doubted it would ever leave me. It’s still with me now. I suppose I deserve it. I deserve to be haunted by the long continuous beep, the sound of a dead mans pulse.