t minus 19 days / / the puppet named hazel

songs are sung not by voices, but by the rhythmic beeps of heart monitors, which craft a melody inside a small hospital room, and light floods in front outside; someone enters, but who? still, hazel sees too little to presume.

probably another doctor. she's not ready for therapy, but will she ever be? her life is no longer under her control; wreckage of an accident is forever lost, pieces of a puzzle frozen in an eternal 

frost.

she's a puppet, controlled by a wicked thing named destiny. its smile is kind, but teeth forever crooked.

"i'm sorry." his hand is rubbing the nape of his neck, toes curling from nervousness, and his eyes are avoiding hers, even though he knows, ultimately, it does not make a difference.

hazel leans forward, throwing her blanket aside. she wants to be angry, but instead, she sighs.

and though she cannot see him, she recognizes his voice: smooth honey laced with mild warmth; gentle yet raspy.

"you again. how did you find me?" 

she does not make him leave, even though she has the choice.a shaky laugh escapes his lips, interrupting the endless harmonies of the machines.

"you're not that hard to find." he slips into a plastic chair, one that's been empty due to the lack of visitors. before she can counter, against the infinite silence he intervenes, 

"in case you're wondering, you can call me henry."

hazel tilts her head to the side in thought, ghostly fingers fidgeting in her lap, tongue withholding from saying anything snide. she feels the air shift as henry takes a seat.

"okay, clumsy henry. i'm hazel."

though she cannot see it, hazel can sense that henry is smiling; she can feel it in the breeze.

he rakes a hand through his short hair and leans forward, elbows rested upon his knees.

"hazel. I like your tattoo."

her fingers fly to the tattoo on her wrist, a small heart with an arrow piercing through it. its meaning she tries to forget, as memories indescribably painful brew a thunderstorm in her mind. and as always, what travels faster than sound is  

light.

she blushes a shade of scarlet, one that matches her heart, before pursing her lips, and then, opening them slightly apart. hazel struggles to suppress a smile, but to no avail. her rosy lips curve upwards, and it's like the air has poked a dimple into her cheek; for once, it seems against darkness, light has its chance to prevail.