1. There is nothing. Nothing I see. I see nothing.

Nothing because at this moment nothing

is all I know. One would say all you know is darkness and I would say no. No, because
ever so slightly, fibers of light would hold visibility. This light is so close to my eyes yet
always out of focus. I squint yet the lens of the camera can never lock down good
visuals of the source. A scene formulates in my mind and before my eyes. A scene, yes,
but truly the absence of a scene. Get that, and within it, two masculine figure types in
close proximity of one another envelop the lens. The two presences greet each other
with familiarity. Trying to uncover their identity; it only becomes fuzzier. Hands are
shaken and the interest of the out of focus light is gone. The muscles of my face relax.
My eyes close, or in this case it gets darker. I see nothing. Nothing again.

2. Everything is untouched. Everything is still. Stillness envelopes my surroundings.

Stillness becomes my domain. My domain is constant and fortified only affected by
change through sound and the elements. The lights may be off, but the radio receivers
are still operational. The sound of the screen mesh from the window outside of my
visuals, creeps into my domain. Without the glass protector the integrity of my solitude
dwindled.

3. The curtains begin to flap ever so gracefully. The reminder of life moving forward and
onward outside, in the way of natural noises, begins to play at a low volume.

4. My domain has changed. The integrity has been destroyed; continuing to be reduced to
nothing, only to be forever changed. My body tenses as I believe it should. It should
react to change. A change not thought to appease the body. Strange. Strange, because
the change is pleasant.

5. From arm to arm; leg to leg; shoulder to shoulder; hip to hip; nipple to nipple; pinky toe to
pinky toe; a cool blanket stretches over my person and engulfs my space. The sensation
is pleasant.

6. Before, everything was still. My domain was unchallenged. My homeostasis unchanged.

The matter around me dissolved . “One with the universe”, yet my stubbornness wouldn’t
allow said quote to be a complete thought. Instead, now, I’ve been pulled back. The
sensitivity of the mattress discreetly announces its relationship with my posterior. It
hasn’t reached the state of uncomfortableness. Instead it’s pleasant.

7. Time passed. The winds have slowed its pace. The temperature is lukewarm. The day
time crew is still playing their tune saying “our shift isn’t done yet”. Drastic measures was
a presumed notion of action, but instead a simple hand motion saficed. ⅔ and some
decimals of my body were embraced by a sheet of actual matter. This is pleasant.

8. The sound of wood panels creeping as if a person was walking, oh wait, but that’s what
it was, oh wait, movement was occurring. The volume fluctuated. The wood panels crept
 and the door made a “creeking” remark. My body is still. Position secured. Door closed. I
survived the “check up”. Once again I survived change. Once again, this is pleasant.

9. A red glare brushes over my eyes. In retaliation, I brush it off right back. Mentally. With
my homeostasis in check; with my heart at rest; with my mind at ease; with a sense of
tranquility, I open my eyes for the very first time. The light begins to roll in. It's bright. I
cock my head to the left. My left hand provides me cover. It's bright. I see color. I see
objects. I see structures. I see the sky and the plants. I see everything. I see now. I see
how pleasant this is.

10. Time has since passed. Change has taken over. I sit here in the same room. Different
bed. Hair on my face. I ask “when will I see you again”. “How long will it take?”. No
response. Before I go and go on to the future, I want to say thank you and not goodbye. I
promise to find you and experience you again. For now, I say thank you. That moment in
time was truly pleasant.

11. It’s just like pain to scream in your face but this time it means the worst. It doesn’t want
to stop, making the walk to the hospital real tough…Actually, I lied. A shift occurred
where the feeling of pain dulled but my head space and motor skills began to pump the
brakes and slow down its operation. The walk grew in distance but atlas the white light
from the inside of the ER entrance, struck through the dark in search of me. The directed
attention let my eyes depict the red pigment painted on the hand covering the wound. I
looked upon the white light once more and smiled, for the thought of arrival was truly
pleasant. [ Gun Shot ]