Light! A beam of light!
I look toward the light, only to suddenly realize I can sense its position but cannot see anything. What’s happening to me? Panicked, I try to raise my hand to rub my eyes but find I can’t feel my hand move or even locate where my face is. What’s going on? Shocked, I try to open my mouth to say something but cannot feel my mouth making any movement. Where am I? What’s happening to me? A flood of questions races through my mind, accompanied by a surge of anxiety. I have no idea what’s wrong with me!
After the initial chaos, I try to recall the last thing I saw. Numerous fragmented images surface, but their order is a jumbled mess. I feel as though I’m breathing heavily, but I can’t sense the existence of my nose, the feeling of air passing through my nostrils, or the rise and fall of my chest. Am I dreaming? How do I wake up?
I don’t know how long it’s been, but I seem to be able to piece together some visual memories. I remember I was coming out of a shop, walking along the sidewalk, when suddenly I heard people shouting behind me, followed by the screeching of brakes. Then, something seemed to scoop me up from behind—a large object supporting my hips, back, and the back of my head. My face was turned skyward as I was flung into the air. The sky was so blue, and for a moment, I felt I could touch it if I reached out. But then the blue turned to white, then brown, and finally red. That’s when I passed out. When I woke up, there was the beam of light.
From this memory, it seems I was hit by a car? Where am I now? A hospital? But why can’t I feel my physical presence? My hands, my body, my face—I can sense their positions but cannot perceive any interaction with the external world. Touch, temperature, smell—they all seem to have vanished.
Could it be that I haven’t actually woken up yet? Am I still unconscious, only regaining awareness and hearing? If I sleep a bit more, maybe I’ll fully wake up and regain my body. Thinking this, I quiet down and start to listen to my surroundings.
I hear a faint breeze, probably from an air vent, along with a weak buzzing sound—likely from some equipment. There are rhythmic mechanical noises, like a pulley lifting and lowering something repeatedly. In the distance, there’s a regular beeping and occasional muffled voices, but I can’t make out what they’re saying. So, I must be indoors, probably in a hospital, with medical staff checking on things. But what time is it? Am I still unconscious? I’m utterly confused.
Am I awake now? I try to sleep but fail. Instead, I focus on sensing whether my fingers can feel anything. But all I can discern is that “I have fingers”; there’s no tactile sensation, and I can’t move them—not even a slight twitch.
I don’t know how long I’ve been trying when I fall asleep again.
I’m awakened by a sudden noise—a heavy piece of equipment being wheeled around nearby. The sound of wheels rolling on the ground mingles with indistinct voices in the distance and the beeping of some device alarms. I try to make sense of each sound, but they’re muffled, as if behind a door or wall. Suddenly, I hear the door open, followed by something being pushed inside. The various chaotic voices from the hallway grow clearer with the open door.
“Kris, Dr. Jay wants you to come over.”
“Send it to Room 137. There’s an available bed there.”
“Can you check the air conditioning in Room 131 later? It seems too cold.”
“Alice, can you come over here?”
“David, could you take these files to the MRI department?”
So I am certain that I should be in the hospital, but why can I still see and feel nothing? Am I awake? The light is still there, and after a while, accompanied by the sound of curtains being drawn, the light seems to turn into a warm orange color. Yet, I still can’t feel any warmth, let alone any sense of touch.
"Hey! Is anyone there!!! I'm here!" I shout, though I still can’t feel my throat or my tongue. I try again, "Hey!!! Hey!!! I'm here, can you hear me?"
No response. Soon after, the sound of a vacuum cleaner starts, loud and noisy. Instinctively, I try to raise my hand to cover my ears, but I know my hand is there, I can sense it, I can’t perceive any movement, nor can I feel my ears, let alone cover them to block the noise. I suddenly begin to panic. Is it possible that I have already woken up, but can’t move my body or make a sound, so they don’t know I’m awake?
“Hey!!!! I'm here!!! I’m awake!!!”
“Can anyone hear me!!!”
“Why can’t you hear me! I’m right here!!!”
I feel myself screaming in despair, but I still can’t feel my throat or tongue, and I can’t hear any sound coming from me. The vacuum cleaner stops. I continue shouting for a while, and then I hear the janitor picking up things and pushing the vacuum cleaner away. Then, the door closes, and the voices in the hallway become muffled...
“Hey! Why can’t you hear me!”
I feel that my cries are filled with despair, and I can almost imagine the tears flowing from my eyes, but still, I don’t feel any feedback from the muscles in my face, my throat, tongue, or mouth—they all seem absent.
I don’t know how long passes, but the door gently opens, and some hurried footsteps approach. I can’t help but shout again, “Is anyone there! I’m here!” Even though I know that probably no one will hear...
“Room 139, patient 1391, Sean Hsu,” a girl's voice comes.
“Yes, it’s me, I’m Sean! I’m right here!” I shout with all my strength.
“Traumatic brain injury from a traffic accident, currently in a vegetative state, other physiological indicators are normal,” another girl’s voice says.
Vegetative state!? I’m a vegetable? Huh!?
"I can hear you! I’m right here! Help me!" I instinctively shout, even though I don’t have the nerve feedback to speak. I still do my best to shout, "But I’m right here!!!"
A slightly mature female voice slowly answers, "What a pitty, he is still so young. Let’s observe for a while longer. If he starts breathing on his own, we can remove the ventilator."
I suddenly realize that the regular sound I hear, like something being pulled up and lowered, is the sound of my respirator.
"But I’m awake! I’m right here! Why can’t you hear me?... I’m really awake!" I continue to shout silently, struggling to raise my hand in my mind, hoping they might see me, but the footsteps sound again as they file out of the room, and the door gently closes...
In despair, I open my mouth to shout in my mind, even though I know I can’t produce any sound. But that despair overwhelms me, and I can’t resist the impulse to shout, as if I am trapped in a cage, bound not only in my limbs but in my breath as well, struggling to break free in vain. My consciousness feels my breath becoming more rapid, sinking into a state where I can't breathe because of despair, like a living person bound and placed in a coffin, still conscious, hearing the coffin lid being nailed shut, with the remaining air trapped in a small box. My hands and feet are bound and can’t move, and my desperate screams are unheard. Then, I hear the coffin being lowered into a grave, and the sound of dirt being shoveled in, burying the coffin. The most terrifying thing is that, in this desperate cage, my consciousness remains alert. I suddenly think: will this affect my breathing and trigger some sort of alarm? Then the nurse might come to check on me, and I might have a chance to establish some way of communicating with them. But there’s nothing. The respirator continues to function rhythmically, and I don’t hear any warning sound.
I can’t stop myself from shouting in my mind. I don’t know how much time has passed when I suddenly realize that I seem to be free? I walk through a garden filled with the scent of flowers, barefoot, feeling the grass brushing against my skin, itching, but soft underfoot. I can still feel the slightly soft soil beneath the flattened grass, rising and breathing with my steps. I stretch out my arms, and the bushes by the roadside brush across my palms, like an endless wall, or like countless small hands greeting me. I look ahead, and at the end of the grass, there is a beach. Beyond the beach, I see rolling waves—that’s the sea! The place where I grew up!
I run toward the sea, quickly reaching the beach. With every step, I feel the sand seeping through my toes and falling away as I lift my foot. After running for a while, I step onto the wet sand, and the waves come up to my feet, like thousands of tiny hands tapping gently on my feet, then quickly retreating. As the waves recede, some sand is carried away, causing my feet to sink deeper into the sand. Another wave arrives, tapping my feet again with countless tiny hands before quickly retreating, and my feet sink a little more with each retreating wave.
I close my eyes, immersed in this feeling, when suddenly, I sense another presence nearby. I open my eyes and look around. Not far away, in the glow of the setting sun, I see a small figure. I focus my eyes and realize that it’s a little dog! It’s Cooky, who has been gone for six years! It sits quietly, staring at the sea, with the sea breeze gently tousling its fur. But it stays still, looking at the sea as if deep in thought or waiting for something. I turn and run toward it, shouting, "Cooky!"
Just then, another sound interrupts, like a stack of books falling to the ground, followed by the clattering of metal equipment. Suddenly, everything disappears, and darkness fills the space, with a faint light in the corner. I look around in confusion when a conversation enters my ears:
"I'm sorry!"
"It’s okay, are you alright?"
"Yeah, I’m fine, sorry for knocking over your equipment."
"It’s fine, as long as you're okay..."
Then, the sound of equipment being adjusted and paper rustling fills the room, followed by the sound of wheels rolling as a cart moves. I realize that I’ve returned to my body in the hospital room. The beach scene—it was a dream? I was free in the dream, but waking up, I’m trapped in this body which is also a lonely cage...
"Hey! Hey!" I guess they can’t hear me, but I can’t help trying to make a sound. Just as I expect, they don’t hear me and continue their conversation...
"1391 has been more than six months now. It seems like there’s no change?"
"Yeah, the doctor said the chances of recovery are slim..."
"I don’t think I’ve seen his family. Did he ever have family visit him?"
"I don’t think so..."
"How pitiful..."
The conversation stops abruptly, and a dead silence follows. Only the sound of my respirator slowly running fills the space. I hear the rustling of paper, and after a while, another voice quietly asks, "Do you think he can perceive his surroundings but just can’t respond?"
In that moment, I feel a surge of energy and want to shout, “Yes, yes! I can hear you! I’m right here!”
But, just like before, they ignore me. Another woman’s voice calmly responds, "There’s no sign of that at the moment. Our equipment only indicates normal physiological parameters."
"He cried last time. Does that mean he’s aware, or is there some other reason for it?"
"Not necessarily. The tear glands don’t always rely on psychological factors. Various external stimuli or even nerve reflexes can trigger it."
"What about the brainwaves? Any abnormalities?" the other girl asks.
"I’m not sure. We’ve applied for additional neurological tests, including brainwaves, but the insurance company hasn’t approved them yet."
"Oh... okay. It’s so sad, he might not even know he’s already dead..."
I can’t help but mutter again, "But I’m not dead! I’m right here!" But the wall between us still stands cold and firm, separating me from their world. Suddenly, I feel a burst of anger. The gods of fate have trapped me on this side of the wall, constantly feeding me information from the other side but not allowing me to send even a simple message saying, "I’m still here," forever keeping me imprisoned here. What kind of cruel torment is this! I would rather be dead, but I am powerless, unable to end my own life!
As time passes, my hearing becomes more sensitive. I can identify the sounds of footsteps from the far end of the corridor, the alarms at the nurse's station, and even hear the nurses' conversations on the other side of the corridor, as well as the sound of a TV playing in the distance. With the help of the TV news, I can occasionally figure out the date and time. I’ve been lying here for eight months... I can hear the patient in the bed next to mine. During one quiet moment, probably at night, the alarm of some equipment suddenly sounds. The nurse’s footsteps approach, and the door slams open. More hurried footsteps rush into the room, followed by orders, voices filling the air, then the sound of wheels rolling as more equipment is brought in. Finally, the long beep of a heart monitor stopping, and everything becomes quiet. A calm voice says, "That’s it. I believe you’ve done your best. I’ll notify the family..."
Then the sound of the wheels continues rolling, footsteps and soft sobs gradually fade away. I try to identify every sound, but soon all that’s left is the noise from the far end of the corridor. After some time, more people enter the room, the rolling of wheels stops, followed by the sound of the bed or something moving, and then the wheels roll again as the footsteps fade away.
When can I leave? During this time, I soar freely in my dreams, trapped in a cage in reality, hoping that every shout I make will be heard. But no miracle happens. The nurses and doctors come and go. Every time, my indicators are normal, but there’s no sign of improvement. I become more and more desperate. I try to hold my breath, hoping to suffocate myself. I attempt to control my heartbeat to stop blood circulation and die, but every time I try, I fall into a deep sleep, floating through dreams, only to wake up again in the cage, listening for any faint sound around me, trying again to end my life by stopping my breath or heartbeat...
"He’s been like this for a year. Do you think there’s still hope for him?" a voice asks.
"Very slim. The insurance company hasn’t approved the other tests we applied for..." another girl replies.
"Ah, I heard the insurance paid out a lot, and he has insurance too, so maybe it can cover his brain tests?"
"I’m not sure, but I think... if the tests show there’s still awareness, the insurance company might think the cost of recovery is higher than just maintaining the status quo."
"Ah!? Isn’t that unfair?!" the girl replies angrily.
"Well, that’s how it is..." the other girl responds helplessly.
At this moment, I feel not only despair but also anger. In my world, the spark of anger falls from the sky. My thoughts run wild like a galloping wild horse, racing across a burning prairie, free, and finally crashing into the horizon, exploding into fireworks...
That day, after their conversation stopped, the room remained silent for a long time. A nurse leaves first. I feel the remaining nurse standing at my feet, looking at me, silent for a long time. After an unknown amount of time, she steps away softly and slowly closes the door...
In my world, the sky shrinks to a small well opening. I sit at the bottom of the well, looking up at that tiny patch of sky. Even though I have infinite life ahead of me, it’s all I have—a tiny patch of sky. What kind of life is this? Does this life still have meaning? But I still can’t die or wake up. This is my world: a dark well, a small piece of sky, a trapped soul struggling to rise, only to fall again and again to the bottom. I raise my hand to touch the sky, but realize my hand no longer exists. In the dream, I seem freer. What is the meaning of my consciousness? The real world seems to have no meaning for me, and the dream—could that be the place where I am truly alive?
Another Christmas comes. The TV at the end of the corridor plays holiday music and news. The nurses talk about the upcoming holidays, family gifts, and occasionally, the sound of alarms breaks the quiet night, followed by hurried footsteps in the corridor, and then everything settles again...
I long for those cold nights when I drove alone through the dark night into the silent desert. Orion rises in the winter night. The white Rigel, the red Betelgeuse, quietly shining in the winter night sky. I look at the stars, feeling so small yet possessing the whole universe. But where is my home? I’ve been searching but never found it. Now, my soul is imprisoned in this cage. If I live for 100 years, it will be a 100-year prison. I can’t leave. But if I truly leave, where will I go? Do I even still exist? Our bodies, even if we can walk freely and speak with others, are they still a cage, just a slightly freer one? Is true freedom the consciousness in my dreams?
Suddenly, I feel a jolt, and I sit up from the bed! Shocked, I look around. I’m amazed to see that I’m still lying in bed, much thinner, with my hair and beard shaved off. My body is attached to some equipment, with some green and red warning lights flickering, but no sound. I turn to the other corner of the room. A janitor, wearing headphones, probably listening to music to block out the noise, pushes a large vacuum cleaner. He turns it toward the other side of my bed, and notices the cords tangled in some equipment. He sets the vacuum down, walks over, unplugs it, and walks to the other side of my bed to plug it in again, resuming his work. That’s when I realize that the equipment that was plugged in earlier has lost power, and the equipment by my bed, including my respirator, has stopped.
The janitor continues working, humming a song, unaware of my presence as I drift past him. I look back at my body, calm and peaceful. It feels real, yet dreamlike. So, am I dead? I’m not sure. What am I now? A soul? Where will I go? Suddenly, I want to laugh out loud. I’m free! I’m free!!!
I turned and drifted out the window, the cold night sky stretching endlessly above me. Orion still hung high, its stars gleaming down, and I took a deep breath with my soul, spreading my wings, flying toward the infinite darkness of the night…
(End)