Just open the god damn door!

Locked in a small container, confined, wishing you could escape. Barely enough room to move, slightly twisting to rid yourself of that uncomfortable feeling, however the slightest move, you feel trapped.

The air is thick and hard to breathe, you are breathing warm moist air, the air you body has exhaled. Sweat begins to run across your brow, beading, dripping, running down the side of your face. You begin to feel the sweat bead and then trickle down the spine of your back. Your limbs become achy due to the confined feeling, the lack of being able to move. As the time passes, the air becomes warmer and warmer, not hot, definitely uncomfortable.

Now you begin to feel more anxious, hoping that someone will open the container and let you out, if it were only that simple. Our pulse begins pounding, feeling it in your ears, across your temple. The throat begins to get dry like cotton, making it difficult to swallow. Meanwhile your pulse is bounding harder, like the beat of a drum. Your body dripping sweat, as if you were in steam room. Seeing the veins on your hands stand out like a man nailed to a cross. Your body is screaming for help, that one breath of fresh cool air. Wondering if you will ever escape the mess that your in. Your mind thinking, wondering, hoping, wishing for some answers. Knowing that all it will take is for someone to open the door to the container. Letting us breathe, allowing us the opportunity to escape.

Instead we lie there helpless, screaming out for help, "Just open the god damn door."

The wound

The wound is gaping open, blood spills out, running onto the floor. Initially we apply direct pressure to it, the dressing is becoming soaked. We add more dressings to the wound and it continues to bleed. It slows it down, we are concerned, still bleeding, not coagulating.

We rush to the emergency room hoping that they can help. The doctor notices how large the wound is, and even the doctor is unsure whether he can stop the bleeding. They continue to add dressings to the wound, slowing it down.

In the meantime we begin to feel weak. We can feel the pain of the wound, the dressing help a bit, however, every time they change a dressing it opens up and the air stings our flesh. We look down at the wound and the sight of the large gaping whole is not as large as it feels. It still is going to leave a big scar, I just hope the bleeding stops.

Suddenly the doctor takes his syringe and starts injecting lydocaine into the wound so he can begin the tedious job of sewing up that large whole. I feel the needle piercing my open flesh, the pain is unbearable. Soon after I become numb, not feeling a thing. He is now sewing the wound closed, I don't feel a thing. Just thinking about the scar it will leave behind. Wondering what people will think when they see me.

Leaving a lasting impression of the things that I have done.