Dying Sparrow: A Short Story

Have you seen my husband? Is all my mom was shouting as she held my hand tightly, running back and forth through the hospital? A receptionist sent us to a room, which felt like coming into an isolated mausoleum. The cold air enveloped my entire body, ice has replaced my spine and numbness is all my fingers felt. The room was somber dark, dead silence; the only sound heard was the heart machine ... Beep … Beep. There wasn’t anything more traumatizing then seeing my father lain on the bed, unresponsive, tubes coming from out mouth and nose. The sadness and desperation in his eyes broke my heart. All of sudden the heart monitor went off with a loud buzzing sound. A nurse jumped out of nowhere “Code Blue”, in matter of seconds 4 nurses and a doctor surrounded my father, my mom and I mindset was at a shock, like were able to see what was happening but couldn’t do anything our body was some glued to the floor. The doctors and nurses tired to help my father but it was too late,

Narrative point of view can express a perspective that is different to my own way of seeing the world by using characters, expressive language and language techniques and setting. The narrative The Bone Sparrow uses unique point of view to express a perspective different to mine.

The day Luther was supposed to come home was like the past two days: after the dismissal of school, I would go to cross country practice. Grandma would then pick me up and take me home. When I got in the car after practice, Grandma’s facial expression told me that something was wrong, causing the air to strip from my lungs, dropping my stomach to my toes. She informed me that Luther had been taken by ambulance to St. Mary’s in Rochester. Instead of going home, we drove to see him and Mom. The ride to Rochester was a slow blur. Trying to work on homework was useless as constant thoughts about Luther flowed into my mind. When we arrived at St. Mary’s, we went straight to the NICU, where Luther was admitted. Tears filled my eyes when I saw the many chords that were connected to his little body that led to machines that I had never seen before. Mom explained to us what was going on, but I still didn’t grasp the concept that, lying in that little bed, was my baby brother. As an older sister, I felt helpless, knowing that he was going through more pain then I could ever imagine. We stayed for a couple hours, then Grandma took us home. We continued to return to Rochester every day to visit Luther and Mom.

Five years ago, my mother had a brain aneurysm that she shouldn’t have survived. It was traumatic and damaging and to this day she still isn’t right. The point i’m trying to make is that no matter how much you want time to stay the same, it doesn’t. Many mistakes have been made since then, and a lot has been learned. I wouldn’t want to repeat the past if my life depended on it. After my mother had two major heart defects by the time the brain aneurysm occurred I wasn’t ready to give up my mom. We found out just a short time later that it could’ve been prevented if she would’ve made better choices in her life. My life five years ago was undeniably the worst part of my eighteen almost nineteen years on this earth. I stayed in a hospital waiting room for three months just looking for a sign she would wake back up. No one’s ever said why a waiting room is actually called a waiting room. It’s called this because you are waiting on the rest of your life to unfold, waiting to find out if you’ll ever speak to someone again, just waiting on an answer. It is horrifying to walk down a hallway squeezing your brother’s hand so hard he has to tell you to loosen up all to sit in a waiting room and wait on your fait. So my life was not at all glamorous but it got me where I am today, so really I can’t complain. What made me happy after that was watching my mother wake up and finally life started to get back

As Cole stared at the tiny bodies, sadness flooded through him. The sparrows were so frail, helpless, and innocent. They hadn’t deserved to die. Then again, what right did they have to live? This haunted Cole. Did the birds’ insignificant little existences have any meaning at all? Or did his (82)?

Feeble, isolation and dreaded anticipation. I will describe my sadness as death by a thousand paper cuts. For every time I remember that my little boy is leaving me, possibly forever, another cut is sliced across my already weakened heart. None are enough to kill me, but powerful enough to deeply scar. My stinging heart clenches at the thought of the risk that he is putting himself up to. Slowly, I lift my trembling hand with the sellotape bandage wrapped around it, and limply brush off as many white cat hairs as possible. Holding back the temptation to graze my nose across the tip of his and run a hand through the gelled blackthorns of his hair. I attempted to distract myself by smoothening out the creases in the uniform. Can’t the clocks

When you’re asleep, the pain stops. There are no thoughts or ideas that run through your brain, you are emotionless. I wish I could feel like that now, all the thoughts start to get to you’re head. At times I wish that I could end it, just to stop the pain. But I need to stay alive, to make sure they’re all okay. Afterwards, I can do as I like but right now, they are my main priority. I can't lose them, they are my one and only family. If they’re gone, then i'm nobody. I just need to go, the longer I wait the more I put myself at risk. Even though I hate myself for what i’ve done, I still need to stay

“Right this way,” the nurse ahead of me was prompting me to a brightly lit hall that was completely foreign to me. I couldn’t help but be terrified by the sights and sounds around me: people chattering, machines methodically beeping, gurneys rushing past. It was my first time in a hospital and my eyes frantically searched each room looking for any trace of my father. She stopped suddenly and I turned to the bed in front of me but I could not comprehend what I saw. At such a young age, I idolized my father; I had never seen him so vulnerable. Seeing him laying in a hospital bed unconscious, surrounded by wires and tubes was like witnessing Superman encounter kryptonite. My dad’s car accident not only made him a quadriplegic, but also crippled

In Emergency Medical Technician school, you learn that when a patient is in critical condition they will feel an impending sense of doom before there body goes into complete shock. After this drastic change in behavior I sensed that his condition was about to get much worse. As he began to scream his evergreen eyes found mine. Our eyes were locked, and that’s when I watched them disappear like a sunset into the back of his head. Sometimes I can’t help but wonder if it was my eyes that were the last thing he saw on Earth. Then he seized. All I remember thinking was that I had to get out of the

Taking place in a post-apocalyptic world ,The man feels guilt to making the boy grow up in these conditions, he tries to shield the boy as much as he can from the horrors of the world. Everyday is another endless struggle, for both the man and the boy. The man does his best to protect the boy and make sure he keeps hope, and continues to “carry the light”. As the story progresses there are points in which it is clear that the boy loses hope. There is a point in the novel in which the boy wishes he was dead, with his mother, and it is clear how much this hurts his father. The man’s main goal was to keep the boy alive, and to hear that the boy is suffering so much that he would rather die is a devastating

Feelings of desperation and worry flourished my body as I watched my mother with tubes in her mouth getting rushed to the operating room. “Is mommy going to make it out alive?”. “Will I become an orphan?”. These are the exact thoughts that were running through my mind. In life one minute you could be decorating your Christmas tree and the other you're sitting in an uncomfortable chair of the

It was a chilly day but began just as any other day of shadowing a pediatrician. We rushed between patients in order to keep on schedule but instead of dismissing patients early, thorough evaluation remained present. This next patient, however, was one apart from the ordinary. A father had brought his child in to see the doctor but it was the end of the routine checkup which was disjoint with the mundane patient. It was a series of troubles his wife possessed over the past weeks and contemplation of suicide followed by a narrative of the futile efforts of every single doctor she had seen. The end of his child’s evaluation ended in the father’s insipid begging to see his wife despite the fact he was just a pediatrician and had no jurisdiction among adults. Succumbing to the father in concern for her safety, the doctor told him to bring her in during his lunch hour.

I received the news, that my mother had no chance to live and one doctor, placed his hand on my shoulder and sighed loudly with discomfort. He said,” she is not a candidate for any treatment.” I stormed into the ICU room, and held my mother’s hand; she glared at me, unconsciously. I couldn't help but hold back my emotions, so I could be strong for our family. As my eyes were helplessly filling up with tears, I couldn't help but to look around at the doctors and nurses working diligently, and doing the best they could for my mother. At the moment, I remembered the sacrifices that were made to help my mother and how saving lives was my calling from God. Thankfully, my mother survives but only at a twenty percent ejection

Then came my brother’s illness. Within the span of less than a week, I was hurled into the real world: a world of uncertainty, adults, and death. Death had finally reached my front door. For four months, he waited there, but would not come in. This time, he was expected. After about three months, and for the first time in my life, I truly feared Death and its power. Unlike with the first three boys, death was more expected. My brother was not eating, not walking, and was showing no signs of improvement. Looking back on it now, I realize that to the adults, it probably seemed like only a matter of time. With my childlike faith, however, this did not seem like a possibility, or at least I told myself that. My brother could not die, he was not like those other boys. Yet he was, to Death’s cold, indiscriminate eye, my brother was exactly the same. However, as I have learned, Death does not care. Death did not care that my brother had been bedridden in a hospital for the past few months or that another boy was just trying to enjoy a pool-party, because he eventually decided to leave my brother alone. He left our home’s doorway with only the smudge of his fingerprints on the

A little girl and a young boy play in a field, as the sky gets darker. The clouds are not covering up the sun, but instead there are hundreds of large birds. The birds start to fill up the sky, it is just full of the animals all shape, size and size. The children start to bolt to safety, but they are too late. The birds dive bomb the children like rain, tearing at their fragile skin. This is the picture that Daphne du Maurie painted in your mind and Alfred Hitchcock put on your screen. Daphne du Maurier's short story “The Birds” was written in 1952, which lead to the idea of the movie The Birds in 1963 by Alfred Hitchcock.