About that day, the nurses told me that a man found me unconscious in the parking lot and took me in.
After scolding me, they said he left no name or information. I wouldn't have minded thanking him.
A nod between heroes.
An exchange between "Men of Honor."
I'll get over it.
A few weeks passed, but each day, something felt different.
Every hour, I felt a little stronger.
The ache in my legs lessened, and though the bruises and scars still marked my skin, I found I could move again—slowly, awkwardly, but it was movement nonetheless.
At first, I barely trusted myself to stand, but one morning, with no nurse around to stop me, I swung my legs over the bed and stood.
The cold floor beneath my feet grounded me, a reminder that I was still here—alive.
My legs wobbled, muscles weak from days of disuse, but I took a step.
Then another.
I almost fell.
But I managed to to stand up.
From that point on, I made it a point to walk.
Each step was slow, my body still aching, but I wandered the hospital corridors when I could.
I didn’t know why.
Maybe it was to convince myself I hadn’t failed completely. Maybe it was to remind myself I could still move forward, even if I didn’t know where I was going.
The hallways of the hospital felt endless.
Sterile, white, and too bright for comfort.
The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, giving everything a kind of artificial glow. The sound of beeping machines, the murmurs of nurses, and the occasional quiet sobs from patients or their visitors filled the silence.
I found myself walking further and further each day, pushing past the wings where most of the activity was, venturing into quieter parts of the hospital.
These halls felt forgotten, like they were from another time. No doctors rushing past, no visitors crowding the benches.
Just silence.
It was as if this place, this whole section of the hospital, existed outside of time.
And then I saw him.
Find this and other great novels on the author's preferred platform. Support original creators!
An old man, hunched over in a wheelchair by a large window, staring out at the setting sun.
He was alone, his back bent as if the weight of the years had ground him into his seat. His hands rested on his lap, bony fingers gripping the blanket draped over his legs.
There was something about the stillness of him that made me stop in my tracks. He looked like he had been there for an eternity.
For a moment, I considered walking past. After all, what did I have to say to a stranger? But something about the scene drew me closer, almost against my will.
Maybe it was the silence.
Maybe it was the way the sun cast long shadows over him, making him look more like a ghost than a living person.
I walked closer, my footsteps soft against the tiled floor.
He didn’t stir, didn’t acknowledge my presence, but I could feel something in the air.
A heaviness.
A sense that the space around him was suspended in time, different from the rest of the hospital.
I stopped a few feet away, unsure why I was even standing there.
I glanced at the window, following his gaze.
The sky was turning a deep orange, the sun melting into the horizon, casting everything in a warm, fading light.
"You don’t look like you belong here"
The old man’s voice rasped, breaking the silence.
His words startled me, but he didn’t turn to look at me.
His eyes stayed fixed on the sunset.
I blinked, unsure how to respond.
"I… I guess not"
I said quietly.
"But then again, I don’t really know where I belong."
The old man gave a low, almost imperceptible chuckle.
"None of us do. Not here, anyway."
I stared at him, trying to read his expression, but his face remained turned away, obscured in shadow.
His words sank into me, deeper than I expected. There was something about the way he said it—like he wasn’t just talking about the hospital, but about life itself.
"You think you have time"
He said after a long pause.
"You think you can just walk away from everything, that the world will stop for you. But it doesn’t. It just keeps spinning. And one day, you find yourself in a place like this, wondering where it all went."
I didn’t say anything.
His words hit too close to home. He didn’t know me, didn’t know how much I had already let slip through my fingers, but it felt like he did.
I looked down at my hands, flexing my fingers as if to convince myself I was still here, still real.
"I thought… I thought I could change things"
I said, my voice barely above a whisper.
"I thought I could be someone else."
The old man finally turned to look at me, his pale, sunken eyes locking onto mine. There was no judgment in them, just a deep, unspoken understanding.
"And did you?"
I swallowed hard, my throat suddenly tight.
"No," I admitted. "I didn’t."
He nodded slowly, as if that answer made sense.
"Neither did I."
We sat there in the silence, the weight of his words pressing down on me.
The sun dipped lower in the sky, casting the room in a soft, golden glow. Outside the window, the world moved on—cars, people, the distant hum of the city. Life, continuing without us.
"Why did you try?"
He asked, his voice softer now.
I wasn’t sure if he was asking me or himself.
"Because… I didn’t know what else to do"
I said after a long pause.
"I thought saving someone might mean something. That it would change things. That I could start over."
The old man nodded again, his gaze drifting back out the window.
"Starting over isn’t as simple as people think"
He murmured.
"We carry too much with us."
I looked at him, really looked at him this time.
He seemed so small, so fragile, like a leaf about to be blown away by the next gust of wind. But there was something solid in his presence, something unshakable in the way he spoke. Like he had already been through whatever storm I was just now stumbling into.
We stayed there for what felt like hours, neither of us saying anything more.
The sun finally disappeared, leaving the sky a deep, dusky blue.
The world outside grew dim, but inside, the silence remained, heavy and thick.
Eventually, I realized how tired I was, how much my legs were beginning to tremble beneath me.
I got up and looked down at my feet, planted on the ground, still holding me up despite everything.
The old man didn’t move as I turned to go.
I didn’t know if he noticed or even cared. But as I limped back toward the corridor, his words stayed with me, echoing in the quiet of my mind.