Colin listened to the rain as it beat down on the roof and windows of the little hospital. He lay there watching it, listening, ignoring the white uniformed little nurse as she checked the IV in his arm.

"How are you feeling this morning Colin?" she asked him.

He didn't answer, didn't talk. He hadn't said a word since Midori died. He heard them sometimes, when he felt like listening. They talked of the miracle that had saved him, that had seen him blown free of the car as it had exploded. He had survived, despite the bullet that had pierced his lung, the burns on his back, shoulders, and legs, both of which had been broken when he was blown free. Most of the time he just shut their voices out. She was dead, his dad was dead, and inside he was dead too.

"Good morning Colin, how are we today?"

The doctor was more difficult to shut out. Medical students too, looking, listening. A flood of pain as he was examined, practised reassurances from the nurse. The students had blocked his view of the window, so he slowly closed his eyes, brought the sound of the rain into focus.

The doctor spoke of psychological trauma in addition to his injuries, and the severity of his burns, and the students asked more questions before filing out of the room.

Peace and quiet returned as he was left alone to listen to, and watch the rain.

Nothing could block out the pain of having his dressings changed. He cried at the pain, cried because they wouldn't leave him alone, cried because he was still alive. No words came out, just the sobs. The words were his, and he kept them inside.

The little nurse wiped his face, washed the tears away.

She fed him, spooning food into his mouth whilst she spoke to him, waited patiently for him to swallow whatever it was.

Straw in his mouth. "Drink up Colin."

The rain had stopped. He wanted it back, it soothed him somehow.

TBC...

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