Information
Stupor has a minion!
Minion the Broggan
Minion the Broggan
Stupor
Legacy Name: Stupor
The
Glacier LainOwner:
ChristopherAge: 14 years, 4 months, 1 week
Born: December 8th, 2009
Adopted: 14 years, 4 months, 1 week ago
Adopted: December 8th, 2009
Statistics
- Level: 1
- Strength: 10
- Defense: 10
- Speed: 10
- Health: 10
- HP: 10/10
- Intelligence: 10
- Books Read: 10
- Food Eaten: 1
- Job: Unemployed
I am no sleeping beauty...
I cannot move.
Breath passes through my lungs. My eyes are open, but I cannot control them. I can stare only fixedly ahead, shifting in and out of focus. Sometimes I'm lucky enough for my head to be positioned in a way that I can see the television, airing the day's news or soap operas. When I'm awake, I see them, coming and going like clockwork, the nurses in their scrubs the color of ocean water. I remember the ocean, deep and dark and cold. The waves crashing upon one another, the taste of the salt in their spray. I used to go there before this happened to me, before I became a prisoner within my own body.
My ears work as well. I can hear when they talk about me, the burden I am upon them. But they visit less and less frequently. The only visitors I have now are the frequent nurses who know only my name and my condition. They talk to me, but I don't believe they know I can hear them. They tell me their secrets and fears, knowing I cannot repeat them. One of them is having an affair with her coworker, while another doesn't care that her mother is in the hospital. They treat me like a diary, an inanimate object for them to confess their problems into. And like I diary, I can only listen.
When they do visit me (When was the last time? Weeks? Months?) they are distant and cold. I hear them talk to me, but oftentimes I can't even see them. They tell me of marriages and graduations and births. Sometimes they get angry and argue. My sister tells my mother that they shouldn't even bother, because I'm never going to wake up. But no, my mother doesn't listen to her, she tells her that any day I'll wake up. Any day now, I'll be out of this stupor.
I cannot move.
Breath passes through my lungs. My eyes are open, but I cannot control them. I can stare only fixedly ahead, shifting in and out of focus. Sometimes I'm lucky enough for my head to be positioned in a way that I can see the television, airing the day's news or soap operas. When I'm awake, I see them, coming and going like clockwork, the nurses in their scrubs the color of ocean water. I remember the ocean, deep and dark and cold. The waves crashing upon one another, the taste of the salt in their spray. I used to go there before this happened to me, before I became a prisoner within my own body.
My ears work as well. I can hear when they talk about me, the burden I am upon them. But they visit less and less frequently. The only visitors I have now are the frequent nurses who know only my name and my condition. They talk to me, but I don't believe they know I can hear them. They tell me their secrets and fears, knowing I cannot repeat them. One of them is having an affair with her coworker, while another doesn't care that her mother is in the hospital. They treat me like a diary, an inanimate object for them to confess their problems into. And like I diary, I can only listen.
When they do visit me (When was the last time? Weeks? Months?) they are distant and cold. I hear them talk to me, but oftentimes I can't even see them. They tell me of marriages and graduations and births. Sometimes they get angry and argue. My sister tells my mother that they shouldn't even bother, because I'm never going to wake up. But no, my mother doesn't listen to her, she tells her that any day I'll wake up. Any day now, I'll be out of this stupor.
Pet Treasure
Hospital Bed
Cold Water
Blood Bag Candy
Subject Standard Issue Medical Gown
Regular TV
Nurse Fashion Doll
Flayed Lord Breastplate