The Crickets Have ArthritisI woke up.
Woke up to the sound of beeping and buzzing coming from a machine that I was attached to. The air I breathed was sterile and the sheets stung.
I looked up.
Sitting up on the bed next to me was a little boy wearing Star Wars pyjamas. I didn't need to ask what was wrong with him; the bald head, sunken eyes and 'skin and bones' frame told me everything.
"Hi, I'm Tim." He muttered, his voice quivering a bit, like he was unsure whether to trust me or not.
"Hi, I'm Alfie" I replied, and I manage a smile but it feels like the biggest lie I have ever told.
Then the nurse walked in and started running some tests on him, checking his blood pressure. I looked around the room but my eyes kept drifting back to him. His, however, stayed transfixed on me; as if he couldn't remember the last time he had seen anyone apart from his family or the nurses and doctors in the hospital. I wanted to speak to him but I didn't know what to say, I mean, what is there to say to a 9 year old boy who has