Lost Creek Hollow Doesn't matter if you need it or not

Rise. Fall. Rise. Fall. His breathing was stable; though, shaky at times from the clenching of his chest. He was deep in a rested sleep, tired and gone from the day. Nothing around him seemed to be truly real. Sleep went by in no dreams, but silence and void that seemed endless. Whenever he woke, it was to fill empty minutes with food, conversation with his doctor, or because his pain killers had subsided and he could no longer rest through it. Nothing woke him.

Ringing came through his ears, and that ringing quickly built. It went on until it was screeching, and his senses came to a frenzy. His eyes could not even peer open without light blinding his vision. His skin felt prickly, his stomach felt nauseated. His eyes rolled behind his lids, and his nose found clean air irritating his lungs, building his nausea. From gently parted lips, his mouth muttered a quiet, "stop," his head beginning to slowly shake and sway against the stone. Gods, everything hurt. He could focus on nothing. His mind was vacant, high off his head on painkillers that stopped him from foaming in ache. Carefully, he opened his eyes, breaking through the point of the blinding light, and trying to break through the blur in his vision. It was slow, and it was spinning, that he saw her.

That kid.

Hardly able to speak, he tried to control his breathing in his wake, staring at her with half-opened eyes that seemed hardly able to keep themselves there.

What cruel joke was this.