The Eternal Slumber

She arrived in the hospital so long ago that almost no one knew what had brought her there. In spite of the great number of years that had passed, only a fraction of them showed in her face. The fluids that were pumped through her, and the lack of exposure to the elements, had preserved her youth. She would never wake up. The very concept of hope was lost within the tainted confines of her room, where the air was thick with all the smells associated with hospitals; a blend of sickness, bleach, human waste, latex and imminent death. Her room seemed more alive than she did, with its beeping machines, pumping fluids and data readings- also, the occasional nurse that checked all of these things. Some of them did this automatically, thinking of it more as an examination of computed information, rather than that produced by a human; some entered and left the room with a heavy feeling of pity, sorrow, grief, sympathy and all such related negative emotions; fewer lost themselves in curiosity about her history and family. One nurse wondered only one thing, and that was if she ever dreamt. Perhaps she lives in one long dream, the nurse pondered, or visits many places in an ever-changing dream, or maybe she used to dream and now she's run out and merely sleeps in the dark of nothingness. At the nurse frowned and walked out of the room. And still the girl lied there, and still she would for a good long while until her body refused the medication and the machines and died. She would live to be over a hundred years old, but she would look about a fifth of her age. Her dark, coarse hair would never thin or gray; her face and body would remain smooth and unwrinkled; her lips and cheeks would even manage to keep a hint of flush in them before her heart stopped and they turned blue. She was alone, but loved somehow, by someone or many whom she probably didn't know and didn't know her. She was a piece of magic and unknowing hearts held a piece of love for her. She was beauty, innocence, purity and loss. She was the aching of a mystery. She was a myth. No one knew what she was, but she was endless possibilities. Everyone saw in her what they desired. She was the blank canvas to every dream, plan, goal and passion. She was the basis of life and progress. So maybe she would never die, maybe the world would change around her and she would half-live until everything else died.