The room was bathed in semi-darkness. Shards of light from the street lamps sliced through the gloomy atmosphere. Jane could not understand where she was. It was not her room. Her gaze lingered on the shape at the foot of her bed: a white silhouette splitting the shadows.
It was a woman, she guessed: long black hair stood out against the white robe, her face just a light spot.
“You woke up, at last. Don’t panic. I am here as a friend to reassure your parents!”
Jane found herself strangely drawn to her; she wanted to ask questions but a sudden, breath-taking pain in her chest accelerated her heart rate. A high-pitched sound broke the silence.
“Don’t panic. Doctors will be here in seconds. I have to go now, one more patient to see.”
How many hours, even days had gone by? She was wrapped in a rosy dawn in an unknown room… Jane tried to lift her right leg but something prevented her and fear started to creep into her brain.
A soothing caress made her turn her face: it was her mother and, next to her, her father, both watching her with tenderness.
“You shouldn’t have trusted Tom and his search for self-fulfillment through the extreme. What madness to ride on his motorbike along dark, back roads.”
The door creaked open and her parents dissolved in shadows. She closed her hands into fists not to shout.
“You are recovering, Jane. It will take time but you’ll get better.”
The woman in white was back: her face had a stern look: a crooked grin, eyes sunken in sockets. She had lost all her earlier charm.
“I had told your parents you were not ready for me, yet they were so worried I came to check. My presence is no longer necessary. That was close though.”
“And Tom?” whispered Jane.
She felt an icy draught cross the room and heard the swish out of the window.
Lori Marchesin (pen name abroad: Paula Grenside) has been writing stories and poems for a long time. She usually composes her poems in English and then translates them into Italian too. Her poems are present in online magazines and anthologies.