The Fight Against Fall

The leaves don’t stop falling. I watch as another one finally gives out and relinquishes its hold on the twig, swaying in the gentle breeze to land atop a pile of its own kin of umber foliage. Somewhere in this huge hospital, the same fate must have befallen one of us. I imagine the woman’s family and friends to be carrying on with their usual business in another country, oblivious to her suffering while she lies motionless on the stiff bed, her mind grasping desperately at the dissolving clouds of memories as her sense of self-awareness gradually slips into a perpetual slumber.

What a pathetic end. An end that has already claimed so many lives. An end that might target me next.

I would’ve shuddered at the horrifying thought had my body been functioning normally. The chemicals flowing in my veins have a strong immobilizing effect, rendering me paralyzed unless I’m fed orders through a computer program to move. We’re merely human marionettes in the physicians’ eyes. Once we succumb to their mind control, they’ll send us back home to wreak havoc on our own people.

Five women used to share the same room with me. We lived through the cool summer in our beds, mostly chatting about our lives and encouraging one another to persevere through the ordeal. We witnessed fall, a season that didn’t exist in our country, for the first time in our lives. And just like the season, we began to fall, the ties of our friendship slowly being severed by the effects of the chemicals. One by one, the women lost their faith, then their memories and finally, their identities. Sometimes I wonder if it’s easier to let go, instead of having to battle it out by myself. But then I remember my family, my fiancè and everyone who's important to me. I don't have a choice.

I can’t hear the wind picking up, but I can tell by the crinkly red and gold leaves dancing past the window. I observe the almost bare sweetgum opposite the road to the hospital losing more and more leaves as the wind continues its relentless assault. Just as I think the tree will be bare for good, a lone amber leaf on one of the twigs defies my expectations. It manages to cling on for dear life and survive the attack.

A knock on the door makes me shift my attention to the physician. He walks towards me with an intimidating syringe in hand and a kind smile that doesn't reach his eyes. There's a hint of impatience in his honeyed voice when he says he wishes for me to be more obedient and make things easier for him. In the next moment, he's jabbed the needle painfully into my arm crease and injected a blue liquid into my veins. Tears well up in my eyes. I can't scream nor move.

I can only hope that I emulate that leaf.