Forgive Me For All My Sins (Grimace)

Forgive Me For All My Sins


That night was the day my life hit rock bottom.

I had come from the ER in a shocked daze, because mere moments ago, I had failed. Failed to save the life of a young woman, who had been rushed into the ER from the scene of a car collision. She was on death's door and had next to no chance of survival.

Her lungs had been crushed by the sunken in dashboard of her car, and pieces of glass had penetrated her body. She couldn't breathe. She was slowly suffocating from her crushed lungs and she couldn't even cry out in pain. As I watched her die, I desperately tried to think of a way to save her life, a way to make sure she went back home safely to whomever was waiting for her to return. The woman gasped for air that would never reach her lungs, and she died. Shocked, I couldn't move, only stare at her newly decease body in horror as I watched her life leave her body.

I looked down at my hands, covered in her blood, and stood with my mouth open, gaped in horror. My blue scrubs were stained a dark crimson. Stained with layers of old and new coats of blood. A new team of surgeons came in, dressed in clean scrubs, the expression on their faces varied. The older, more experienced surgeons looked weary and pale, they were as used to this as one could get to death. The younger ones were horrified and trembling, their hands shaking as they reached to cover the dead woman's body. One of the older doctors wrapped an arm around my frozen shoulders and ushered me out of the room that smelt of death.

"Doctor, are you okay?" He asked me, concern heavy in his voice. I couldn't form words, my mouth opened, but no words came out. The older doctor sighed and lead me out of room and into the hallway. He sat me down on one of the benches, and put his reassuring hand on my shoulder.

"This is not your fault." He told me, in a stern voice, that knew my protest was coming.

"But it is." I replied, my voice was hoarse and barely audible, but the other man managed to hear it.

"It. Is. Not." The doctor's voice felt urgent, the controlled emotions within it were close to breaking free, "This has happened to many of us. It is not your fault."

But it was.

It was all my fault.

IT WAS ALL MY FAULT.

I didn't reply. I couldn't reply. How could I agree that I wasn't at fault, when that woman's life had been entrusted to me, and I had failed to save it? How could I agree that I wasn't at fault, when someone was waiting for her to come home, waiting for news that she was alright, but never getting it, because I failed.

The doctor was called away by a superior, but he gave me one last reassuring look before he left.

"It's going to be okay, doctor." He said, before walking away. I didn't look up, and continued to stare at the tiled ground in a blank, dazed trance.

How would I break this news to the people waiting for her?

I finally looked up, took a deep breath, and shrugged off my bloody clothes, throwing them carelessly in a trash bin. I walked with shaking legs down the hallway, earning myself concerned looks from the passing nurses and doctors. I probably looked ready to pass out at any second... When I reached the lobby, I saw them. I knew at once that they were the woman's family. A nurse appeared at my side, and looked at me with eyes filled with concern and pity.

"Dr. Blair, those are..."

"I know..."

"Are you ready to tell them?" She glanced at me, then at the family sitting together.

"No." I replied to her. My voice already starting to choke up.

The nurse sighed, "No one ever is..."

I walked with shaking legs towards the family. Internally preparing myself for their reaction. I stopped in front of them and looked at them, trying to speak, but failing. The oldest male, presumably the father, looked at me. With a voice that made every nerve in my body spark, he asked:

"Is my daughter alive?"

I was frozen. How could I say it? How could I announce the woman's death when her father was staring at me, with his eyes that seemed to burn me with intensity, and in front of the mother who was holding a small girl in her arms, their eyes both pleading and wet with tears.

"I-I don't know how to say this.... but..." I trailed off, not knowing how to continue.

The mother gasped, covering her mouth with one hand, while the other gripped around her daughter's shoulders. The small girl cried out, tears streaming uncontrollably down her face. The father.... the father was blank faced. His face void of emotion as he took a few steps away from me.

"There must be some mistake." He told me, in complete and utter denial.

I could feel the lid on my sealed emotions start to crack.

"There isn't." I said, my voice choking a little as I forced the words out.

The family fell silent, and I told them my condolences before hastily retreating. I pushed open the doors into the hallway, and stumbled down the long path. My vision blurred as tears rolled down my face, and I walked out of the back door. My face flushed as the temperature dropped several degrees, and my tears now felt cold as the ran down my face. I slumped against the wall of the hospital, and slid down. My head rested on my knees, and I let my emotions loose.

I was a killer. She died by my hands.

Her death was my fault. All the fault of my utterly incompetent self. She should have been treated by someone else. Maybe then, she may have lived. This was the first time I had lost someone. They said that you would get used to this. But how could anyone get used to this?! To death?! How could this become part of some routine in your life?

I was outside for what felt like hours. My body was numb and I couldn't feel my fingers. My face was red with heat and my voice was hoarse from my sobbing. Suddenly, a thought clicked in my head, and everything was clear to me.

I don't deserve to live.

In my mind, the burning memory of the woman's corpse made me queasy. She deserved to live. She deserved to live a good, long life. I took it away from her.

Repent.

Repent for my sins.

That's what I had to do.

I quickly stood up, my body feeling cold and numb. I staggered back indoors and found my way back to the room where the woman had died. The smell of death still heavy in the air, I felt sick to my stomach and wanted to throw up. My head feeling faint; I stumbled my way towards a table that had small scalpels and knives of varying sizes strewn across it. I took one in my hand. My body was no longer trembling, and instead I felt calm. My hand flexed around the small, sharp lancelet, gripping it tightly in one hand, I brought it close to my neck. One slice. One slice and I could end this.

I pressed the scalpel closer to my neck, and winced as the sharp blade pierced my skin and I could feel my warm blood trickling out of the small cut. I slid the blade across my throat.

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A cold, icy hand gripped mine. And I looked up to see a colourless, pale, gaunt face staring back at me. I let out a blood-curdling scream. No eyes, no mouth and a thin, tall and bony humanoid body stood, somewhat slump backed in front of me. I dropped the small blade I held, blood running down my neck, staining my white coat. The metal lancelet made a small clang as it hit the ground. The gaunt and bony man in front of me stared at me with a gaze that made my body feel like it was on fire. Like every nerve in my body was awake. I struggled and tried to writhe away from the man, I was unable to speak, my voice had suddenly vanished. I was screaming in my head, screaming at myself to get help, to call someone, to do anything.

The grip on my wrist tightened and I heard my bone snap. I yelped in pain as the man tugged at my broken wrist with strength that was inhuman.

"STOP. STOP. LET ME GO." I screamed at the monster in front of me. My adrenaline was up, but it didn't help against whatever this thing was.

The man's blank gaze bore into mine. I tried to break eye contact and look away, but I felt hypnotized and could only stare back.

Sudden waves of dizziness and nausea came over me. Blood spilled from my mouth and I gagged on the foul liquid.

This is not the way to repent for your crimes.

My ears rang as a loud voice sounded in my mind. I cried out in pain. My head feeling like it would explode.

Death is the easy way out.

The voice was raspy and commanding. It was powerful and I felt compelled to obey it.

But if death is what you wish, them I will gladly end your suffering.

Was this what I really wanted? I thought I was prepared to die. I thought I could do it. I really did. But I don't want to die. I WANT TO LIVE. I want to live for as long as I can.

"I WANT TO LIVE. I DON'T WANNA DIE." I screamed as loudly as I could with my hoarse voice.

The eerie man looked oddly satisfied. A long black tendril groped around the dimly lit room and found the small metal lancelet I had dropped. It brought the blade closer, while another tendril tugged at my shirt and exposed my torso. Ignoring my yelps of protest, it brought the metal blade against my stomach and dug in. The tendril dragged the blade in a choppy circle through my flesh. I felt tears in my eyes and the stinging of the shallow wound on my neck. Screaming and kicking my legs I tried to get away. The tall man looked at the bloody mess on my stomach and let me go. I dropped to the floor and was shocked still. My vision started to fade. Blacking out every so often. I slumped onto my side and tried to look up at the tall man, but I was too dizzy and my eyes refused to focus.

Then everything became dark.