Young Writers Society

It is sometime in the afternoon - I don’t really know, I’ve sort of lost track of how many days I’ve been here; all I base time on is that I know Matilda draws my blood on Wednesdays - when the doctor shows up with both my family and yours. This is a bit unusual; you are asleep and since we’re in the ICU they don’t really allow visitors too often unless the patients are awake. Instead of stopping to see you, though, your family joins mine and the doctor next to my bed.

They’re all smiling at me, like they’re waiting for me to do a trick or something, so I just say, “...hi?” Even though your family visits frequently and we’re in the same room, I have yet to talk to them - your mom and who I presume is your brother.

“Cole,” the doctor says, clamping a hand on my shoulder. “You have done an amazing deed, son.”

“I have?” I ask blankly.

“Yes, of course! From what you’ve mentioned, you remember the strike and finding Zephyr, correct?”

“Yes...” I still have no idea where this is going.

“Well, from what we have observed, there was an awful lot of current in Zephyr’s body at the time you found her. By touching her skin, you took some of the current yourself. This may, in fact, have saved her life.”

My jaw falls open. Well. This is certainly news to me.

“Your actions, although not purposeful, brought her back from the brink of death. St. Vincent’s has a special award for heroes like you. I’d like to present you with the Milly J. Walker Award, for selflessly putting yourself in danger to save another.”

He pulls from his pocket an intricate bronze medal hung on a red and purple ribbon and places it around my neck.

I pick it up, staring into the shiny surface at my own reflection. ‘Heroism,’ it says simply on the front. “But I didn’t do it on purpose,” I say.

Everyone laughs.

“What do you know?” the doctor says. “He’s humble, too.”

Your mom walks up to me then and clutches one of my hands in both of hers. There are tears in her pale green eyes. “I don’t know how to thank you. If we had lost both... if we had lost both of them, I don’t know how we could have made it through. If there is anything, anything at all we can do for you, or give you in return, please, let us know.”

I just stare at her with wide eyes. In the past five minutes, I have gone from hospital patient to hero. Apparently, she is still waiting for a response; what do I want?

“Actually,” I say, looking at everyone in the circle around my bed, “what I’d really like is to be able to keep seeing her.”



Several times later that day, I am pulled out into the hall to do news interviews. Everyone, it seems, has caught onto my story, even though I still think I didn’t really do anything.

The cameras are awfully intimidating, with their big unseeing eyes, but I figure all this publicity must be a good thing; with everyone knowing, they can’t plan on keeping the truth from you much longer. Therefore, they must be planning on telling you in the very near future.

I am glad you will know. But I am terrified for you, for how you will feel when you learn that your dad has passed away.

When I am wheeled back into our room - I don’t know why I’m in a wheelchair, my legs are fine; it must garner sympathy for me or something - I discover you are awake. They recently removed the bandages from your hands, and to be honest they look horrid. The skin is all puckered and red, and traced with these funny lines, but I suppose if I were you I’d just be glad to be able to use them again. They hurt, I’m sure, but you are determined, and just keep trying to feed yourself.

“Where were you?” you ask me between mouthfuls.

“Umm,” I say.

“Therapy,” the nurse pushing me says.

“Yeah. Therapy,” I repeat.

“Uh-huh,” you say, but you look suspicious.

The nurse lifts me up back onto my bed and walks out of the room slowly, taking the wheelchair with her. As soon as she’s out of earshot, you say, “You weren’t at therapy.”

My eyes grow wide. “Of course I was!”

“No, you weren’t. I mean, I know your therapy’s easier than mine, but still, you’re not even winded.”

I fake being out of breath, but you’re not buying it.

It’s then you see the medal around my neck, the Heroism one, the one I should have removed before I got anywhere near you. “What’s that?” you ask. How am I supposed to explain this? After all, you don’t even know that you were struck by lightning - you’re not asking any questions and everyone’s planning on waiting until you’re more stable - so how am I supposed to explain the fact that I saved your life?

“Uh...” I stutter, grabbing it with one hand. “This old thing? It’s just... my sister brought it for me.”

You raise an eyebrow. “It looks awfully nice and shiny.”

I just nod and pretend to be watching the TV. It’s on some local news station again. I swear, after I get out of here I’m never watching another news story again as long as I live.

Then, suddenly, with speed and agility neither of us knew you had, you leap to my side and jerk the medal over my head. Before I can even react, you’re already back in your own bed, staring into the shiny surface. “Heroism,” you read, looking at me, confused.

The doctor - what is his name, anyway? - chooses this moment to come back in and check on us. He sees you with the medal and his eyes grow wide. He looks at me for some explanation. “She took it from me!” I say.

“Yeah, right!” you retort. “I can hardly even get out of bed!” When the doctor is looking at me, you wink.

Right then, at the mention of the name ‘Cole Rees,’ all of us turn to look at the TV. It shows an anchorwoman standing in front of hospital. “A boy by the name of Cole Rees at St. Vincent’s hospital is being crowned a hero after saving the life of a young girl who was struck by lighting.” Your eyes grow wide with realization and the medal slips between your fingers, clattering to the floor as the screen cuts to me during an interview.

“You saved me?” you whisper, eyes wide.

I don’t really know what to say, so I look at the TV again. I didn’t do it on purpose, really. I don’t know why it’s such a big deal.

“On Wednesday, the girl, who goes by the name of Zephyr, was stormchasing with her dad. They were standing when a field when lightning struck.” Then, the screen goes pitch black and we look to see the doctor holding the remote.

“I think that’s enough for now,” he says.

“No!” you cry suddenly. “The--I need to see it! He--the lightning, I--” And suddenly you are screaming. No one is touching you, but you are screaming and writhing and slapping at the air like you’re being tortured. Even though there’s already a doctor here, I lean over and slam my hand on the ‘call nurse’ button.

It’s not necessary; they heard your screams, apparently, and came running. One of them jabs a syringe in your arm and your screams subside to just whimpers. You stare, unseeing, at the ceiling. “I remember,” you whisper.

___________________________

Don't forget the full completed version can be viewed here: http://www.wattpad.com/1589650-c-h-a-s- ... logue-cole

another really good chapter and in all honesty i haven't reviewed anything cuz there's nothing to read but this is good and thanks for the points. i have made a lot off of the chapters.