Sandy Supposes....

Wanted

PROMPT: Creation Saturday! Why is your face on a "Wanted" poster , and why haven't the authorities located you yet?

          Blinking my heavy eyelids, I struggle to swim through a smothering haze of beeps and harsh bright lights. I hear muted voices as my eyes finally flicker open. My gaze is drawn to a suspended television screen flashing a blurred image I recognize as the face I've seen reflected in a thousand mirrors. Is that me on a Wanted poster? Do I have a mug shot? I nearly jump out of my skin when a soothing voice speaks somewhere out of my line of vision. "It's good to see you awake, Jane. How are we feeling?"

          Who the hell is Jane? What's with this 'we' crap? I'm pretty sure I was just one person, little ol' me, the last time I checked. Grunting, I attempt to both raise my head and look around. I'm confused and thwarted; I feel so heavy, and I can't seem to move. My arms and legs seem disconnected. Only my eyes are restless, straining to perceive a clue. They must have communicated something to the voice because it answers me. "Whoa there, take some deep breaths. Your heart monitor is reading a spike. This must be scary for you, but you're in a hospital. You've been in a car accident, Jane. Well, we call you Jane Doe, we don't know who you are."

          I smell antiseptic and stale cigarettes as a white woman leans close to my face. She glows white; hair, skin, starched uniform. My frantic eyes shoot a burst of questions, and once again this woman proves to be telepathic. " You suffered extensive injuries. Most of your body is encased in plaster casts, and your limbs are suspended in traction. Your jaw has been wired shut. There's still a great deal of swelling and bruising of your face, plus some sutures. Do you want to see ?"

         All I could do was blink rapidly, but she understood. Oh, I screamed when I peered into that handheld mirror; it might not have escaped my clenched teeth, yet it caused me to flinch. Accident was an understatement. I appeared to be a grotesque stranger. A lone glistening tear squeezed from my bloodshot eye, and silently coursed down my cheek. "Don't you fret, Jane. You look a fright now, but you'll heal. The plastic surgeon will be in to explain it himself, but he had nothing to work with, so your appearance might have been altered a wee bit. Soon, you'll cry happy tears."

         Ah, this was beyond the white voice, she didn't understand. I was weeping tears of gratitude and relief. Obviously, the old me was a wanted fugitive. This pain and suffering might just be worth it after all. I don't believe the medical staff would be so caring if they knew I was a murderess. My old man had to tempt me one too many times with his, "Well, just go ahead and shoot me then."