This should hurt… shouldn’t it hurt? Rose wondered, dazed in the wreckage.

  It was perfectly quiet, time stretching above her somewhere far away, until, entirely unwelcome, a heartbeat thudded through her stupor, resonating like the tolling of a distant bell. Then, slowly, it was followed by a second,, a reminder that she was alive, that she was still moving, and with that next beat, the hurt found her.

  Pain started in her side and radiated outward, paralyzing her more with every heartbeat. Sharp, and unrelenting, it was like a rail of hot steel had been shoved between her ribs, making her shudder. The air caught in her throat as her body instinctively recoiled from itself. She tried to groan. Then, she tried to scream, but nothing would come out but a rasp, and a hot wet trickle.

  She took in another breath, and it stuck in her throat. Rose felt as though she was drowning.

  “Call someone!” Anna’s voice cut through the haze.

  “I am. I am!” Heather was somewhere close by.

  Then, there was just screaming. Her mother’s voice. A surging crowd. Slim, and perhaps even Connor and the other hands, yelling at everyone to stay in their seats.

  Trembling, Rose put a hand to her mouth, gasping. Her fingers came away red and sticky.

  That’s not the color of air, she thought, confused. Air’s less… less something.

  The pain was getting worse, immediate and searing, a stabbing sensation that spread over her ribcage, and into her throat, and into her hands. She was shaking. Shaking harder and harder. Her arms were beginning to burn.

  “Let’s untangle her from the strings!” someone said.

  “Are you crazy? They’re done! Just cut them!”

  “She’s not breathing!”

  Then, mercifully, the garish, overlit, screaming world faded from Rose’s view, and went gray.

  There were voices around her head, most of them shouting somewhere in the distance. Red lights flashed in her eyes, then white ones glared down at her.

  Rose heard nonsensical words like “fractured ribs,’ and “punctured lung” and of course, more screaming.

  She wished, more than anything, that the screaming would stop.

  “I wish it were quiet…. I wish I could sleep…” she mumbled, unheard.

  A rich chuckle echoed somewhere through the fog of her being.

  This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

  “So many wishes, so little time, Young Rose,” it said. “One task at a time, love. One task at a time.”

  “Tasks? I have… have to close the show. It’s my fault, you know.”

  The voice tutted. “Is it? Well, either way, we can’t have you like this. You’re in no fit state for wish-fulfillment, and I am used to scraping the bottom of both proverbial and literal barrels, I’ll have you know.”

  That voice. It echoed around her mind like a singer in a chasm, louder than anything else. It heard her response, though there was no way she could say anything out loud.

  “Well, of course you can hear me. I find the traditional methods taxing,” the voice chatted.

  It was annoying.

  “Now, that’s just rude,” he said.

  “Get me that IV, now!” someone was yelling.

  “Oh dear… and now you’re dying,” he tutted again.

  The voice left her, then, and she was surrounded by people and lights and incessant beeping machines.

  I want to sleep, she wished. Just sleep…

  Don’t you dare!

  Oh no, my dear. It’s not yet time for you to leave us. You have a wish to fulfill, and we don’t need another wandering soul…

  He’s right dear, you still have a few years left.

  If she chooses them—

  She’ll choose them! Why wouldn’t she choose them?

  To escape your yammering, that’s why!

  I know you’re tired dear, but this isn’t the time for sleep. Not yet. Not until they get you back with us.

  She is with us, you nincompoop!

  It’ll be different if her heart stops beating!

  Insufferable.

  Indeed! Indeed!

  Fight, Rose!

  The old bitty’s right this time. Show us some fight, girl. We know you’ve got it in you.

  Fight!

  The word rippled through Rose like a jolt, burning through her chest as sensation trickled back into her, sharp and cruel. This time, she didn’t run from the feeling. She let it in. She faced it. She let it get worse.

  She took a breath, and coughed; a spasm that sent lightning down her legs. Wet stickiness coated her lips, and she hissed at the feeling, cleared her throat badly, and tried again.

  The air in her lungs was agony with every breath, but it was breath.

  There, see? I told you she’d do it.

  Distantly, someone harrumphed.

  I still think we shouldn’t have waited.

  We have orders.

  Insufferable.

  Indeed.

  Rose couldn’t make sense of the voices. They were both familiar and foreign, and she didn’t have the strength to try and place them. Every ounce of her focus was on the next breath. She was proud of each, and dreaded each one.

  “Did you see that?” someone was saying. “She’s doing it on her own.”

  “Put her under. If she wakes up like this, it’ll be torture.”

  “Get the anesthetist. I’m not messing with this one.”

  And then, no more voices pulled at Rose’s attention, and she drifted into an artificial sleep.

  There it is. Last three chapters. Do I delete them and leave it a mystery as to why she's waking up injured? I'm not in love.