Sanguine

• Claire Monagle, Grade 11
• Short Story
• 2011

ItÆs sometime between midnight and dawn, an indiscernible grey hour. The air is still. It stands, almost stagnant, waiting for the first signs of life to awaken from their slumber. Everything is steeped in silence. The atmosphere inside lies in stark contrast with the unmoving night. People moving frantically, machines beeping, all contribute to a scene than can only be described as organized chaos. ItÆs a race against time and time doesnÆt pull any punches. Doctors and nurses are dedicated people. Watching the scene from above makes it seem cluttered and confused but each has their part to play. One works to stop the bleeding, another administers CPR and more are fetching tools. Someone watches the patientÆs vitals and preps a defibrillator. The room has a strong stench of detergent. The floor is shiny from being mopped over again and again, at some point the smell must have stuck. Mixed is a thick, sweet yet somehow metallic aroma that brings to mind the colour red and something else that smells as though it would be sticky. Blood and sweat. A new doctor enters the room, asks the nearby nurse what theyÆve got. ôYoung man, fell on a wrought iron fence,ö the nurse replies. Her words are slightly muffled by the mask sheÆs wearing. ôPuncture wound through the abdomen. DoesnÆt look good.ö The doctor pulls his gloves further up his wrists and joins the chaos surrounding the man lying on the stretcher. Looking down, I can see the patient has brown hair and high cheekbones. His eyes are shut and faint smudges of blood are present on his face. His most striking feature is hidden deep under bandages and the hands of doctors and nurses, fighting to stop the red liquid that persists in oozing from it. The post of that wrought iron fence had gone straight through him. The paramedics that arrived on the scene cut him out of it, brought the post with him and the doctors had removed it upon their arrival. It left a squishy hole about 4 centimetres wide, halfway between his heart and his stomach. The doctors and nurses are becoming even more frantic. The nurse putting pressure on the wound has dark red stains on her hands. Even so, she wonÆt let go. The machines are constantly beeping, letting off alarms. Someone yells that theyÆre losing the patient. The edges of the room go black and darkness steals across my vision. I canÆt see their frenzied efforts or hear their curses of frustration. ItÆs just before all light fades from the world that I realize that IÆm not looking down. The last thing I saw was the ceiling.