T e n d e r L o v i n g C a r e

When my tiny black Mazda Protegé collided with his car, I realized exactly just what I'd done. Actually, the revelation came a few minutes later, when I watched the scene unfold before me – 11:59, one minute 'til morning. The sky was black paint, and the high beams of ambulances were the splotches of neon red and blue in this morbid painting of a car accident. Bodies were carried gently, gingerly from the crumpled mess of a green Dodge Neon vehicle. Three, to be exact. One man, one woman – both pronounced dead – both having the same blonde hair – and one small, tired looking teenager, who wasn't dead at all. In fact, unlike the two bodies dug from their ultimately once-moving tomb – I found later that they were his parents, his only family – he was very much alive. With a last tired glance towards a thin black sheet of glass on the highway (maybe the windshield?), his eyelids drooped over lucid emerald orbs, signaling that he'd fallen into a fitful, fruitless sleep.

"Gilbert Nightray? Ah, yes, room 230. It's the seventh door on the right, Mr. Nightray." Listening to the painfully bright and – in my opinion – far too cheery nurse, I took strides down the clean, sterile hallway towards room 230. I stuck out like a sore thumb; everyone and everything was garbed in white. Feeling apprehensive, I slowly opened the door, being greeted by a steadily blipping heart monitor and more white. If you wanted to make someone feel like they'd died, this would be the place to take them. I stepped over to the bedside, seeing a small head of blonde hair poking out from under the hospital's bed covers. This is going to be murder. He'll either hate me or say he doesn't blame me. Either way, I'll feel like shit.

"...Do you remember anything, Vessalius-san?" The blonde's tired green eyes looked up at me, in politeness and utter respect – it made me sick – and smiled softly, pain clearly visible on his face when he sat up to look me honestly in the eyes. "I remember everything, Nightray-san. My parents – they're gone. And, the car looked a little like a candy wrapper. Yours did too, Nightray-san." I shuddered. Don't use that sympathetic, respectful tone on me. You're the one that's an orphan. "I don't mean to be rude, but... have you heard anything about what my condition is, Nightray-san? They won't tell me..." Raising a brow, a few reasons as to why this could possibly be entered my mind: they don't know – certainly that isn't it... they're waiting for some kind of test results – possible, I suppose... or, his condition's just too critical - ...Is he going to die...? "...No, Vessalius-san. I don't know." "Ahh... okay... thank you, anyway. So, um... you aren't hurt, are you?" Me? Hurt? No, I'm actually unscathed... but I'm an emotional, guilty wreck. "I'm not injured... thank you."

"He's suffering from mental trauma and severe injury. The injuries are internal. I'm sorry to say this, Nightray-san, but he won't be alive to be an orphan much longer." Hearing the stern voice of the doctor mutter this under his breath to me, in the same room as the polite young blonde – who had fallen asleep after softly weeping an apology to me – only hit me harder. Why him? Why not me, instead? I'm a sorry excuse for a human being, anyway.
"...Is there nothing we can do?" I asked, floundering. My thoughts were a jumble of colors and sounds, and it felt as if I were standing at a great cliffside... with no way to hold this innocent little ray of light back from taking a head first dive over the edge. "Try to make him happy, I suppose." The doctor replied, running a hand through his hair, and with a final glance at the boy, exiting the room.

;_; Jeez. I don't know what got into me, but I just had this idea and I had to write it. Expect more from me on this story~
-Rayna