The car hit Alan and flung him up in the air, then sped away. The SMU rushed him to hospital where he slept and lived thanks to tubes and machines.
“Nurse! When will he be able to give a description?”
Alan slept on.
“We don’t know officer. Soon I think.”
That night Alan dreamt about escaping from a huge prison where all the corridors looked the same.
The machines by his bed beeped and breathed.
Every day his grand-daughters came.
“When will he wake up?”
“When spring arrives, my dear I’m sure,” said the nurse.
Alan slept on and dreamt of snowy lands and caves of ice and the machines by his bed beeped and breathed.
Every weekend his grand-daughters bought him fruit and teddy bears.
“Will he wake up?”
We can’t really say, my dear,” and Alan dreamt of arms and legs growing from the earth and heads growing from trees and bears scratching the windows and trying to get in.
The machines by his bed beeped and breathed and once a fortnight his grand-daughters came but the nurses said nothing now. They only smiled and hurried away.
The girl looked down at the head on the pillow and cried and said “I love you granddad.”
Alan dreamt of nothing that night. The hospital called the next day.
The first cuckoo of spring had woken him and they pushed him through the gardens in his wheelchair. Tulips and cou-cou swayed in the breeze and the sun shone on bright young leaves.
“What’s that smell?”
“It’s flowers grandad! It’s spring.”
“What’s that noise?”
“It’s a cuckoo grandad! It’s spring.”
“Time to be digging and planting seeds then.”
He smiled and sunshine warmed his face.
Author Notes: Steve Brown is a ghost.
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