Karl
“Talk to him. It’s good for him to hear some language—keeps the brain active.”
The doctor’s words still linger in the back of my mind as I stand in my brother’s bedroom, looking down at him. He’s laying in his bed, still unconscious.
I hate seeing him like this. The tubes, the IV, the sound of the machines… It’s all in such stark contrast to the warm mahogany wood and plush blankets. Someone brought fresh flowers, which are in a vase next to the bed. I’m not sure who brought them, or even why; it’s not like he can see them.
But I guess I’m just being pessimistic. The flowers are a nice touch.
I fumble with the edge of Ethan’s blanket, lost in thought. The silence in the room is oppressive, and I find myself yearning for any sign of improvement.
“Ethan,” I start, my voice cracki
