Colors

White lights and white clothes and white sheets, and your not-quite-white pallor as they worked on you. So many of them worked on you. The doctor called me and warned me—wanted me to have a heads-up before they walked me in there. I am glad he did—it gave me a couple of minutes to put my brave face on, to suck in a breath and push back the panic and the fear, so I could focus on you.

Blue eyes, rolling in your head, desperate as you gasped for air, as they worked on you, trying to get you breathing. Talking to you, calming you down so you knew I was there. You quit flailing, you focused on me, and I told you it would be all right, they were taking care of you. I held your hand the whole time, lying to you yet again, knowing nothing would ever be right after this.

Red monitor, flashing codes and numbers and lines, showing your desperate fight to keep going. Your body thought it was worth fighting on, even though the battle was already lost.

Brown wood, shrouding you from me forever.

Gray.