Brain Dead It was 7 a.m. The hospital was awake with hurried footsteps and casual conversation. He could hear the monitors from the other rooms. The constant beeping of their hearts matched the steep mountains and rocky valleys on the monitor before him. It made the same noise. Her chest rose and fell in time with it. He watched her. He tried to picture her washing the dishes, feeding the dog, sleeping, getting dressed. But the scarred woman before him wasn't his wife. She was a brainless incubator with #lifesaving organs that other living people needed. That's what the nurse told him anyway. She was short and grumpy with fat lips and harsh eyes. All he was to her was a man. Perhaps a man that used women for sex and pleasures. He was just another person who couldn't let go of his "loved one," as they called her. He moved from the foot of her bed, ran a hand through his hair, then down his neck. He faced the doorway and watched the nurses type away on computers, smile politely at the elderly patients hobbling by, and flip through piles of paperwork. He crossed his arms. Make a decision, Mr. Daniels. She could save so many lives. He turned back to the breathing corpse lying so comfortably in the bed, her arms at her sides, her eyes gently closed. He could see the blue fingernail polish. He'd watched her paint her nails just last night. "Stop it," she'd said, as he wrapped his arms around her waist and preceded to kiss her neck, then nibble her ear. "Why should I?" he'd whispered against her skin. His eyes flickered open and he saw her steady hands brush over her nails, leaving a trail of inky blue behind. "I'm focusing." He crawled onto the bed next her. She was staring at her fingers but he didn't miss the slight coloring in her cheeks or the gentle tug at her lips. "In a minute," she'd told him. He bit his cheek and put a hand over his mouth. His nose stung and his vision blurred. That minute came, he thought, that minute came and it went, and now what do I have? "Goddammit!" he screamed. The nurses paused in the hallway outside to look at him, but he didn't notice. He shook. Tremors took hold of his body and suddenly he couldn't stand. So he fell. His knees hit the linoleum. His voice tore through the hospital, destroyed the glass panes, sounded the alarms, and still his wife remained motionless, her eyes stayed closed, her chest kept rising, kept falling. "GODDAMMIT!" he cried again. His hand grabbed at his chest, ripped at his shirt, tore at his skin. He wanted to feel pain. He wanted physical pain. "Sir!" The nurse ran into the room. "Sir, are you alright? Charlie! Call Dr. Hamilton!" He looked at her. Make a decision. She's a brainless incubator. She stared down at him. Her eyes were still harsh. He detected some pity in them, in the way they drooped a little. But there was laughter, too. She thought he was a joke. It was her lips that gave her away; the corners curled a little as she stared down at him. Maybe I am a joke, he thought, I'm the man with an incubator for a wife. "Leave me," he breathed. She hesitated. "Leave me!" She ran. He lifted himself from the floor. He held onto the bed for support. He searched his mind for words, for something to say to this woman, this pathetic excuse for a wife. "Why did you do it to me?" he said. His eyes were trained on the street below them, on the skyscrapers in the distance, on the harbor not too far off. "I had nothing till I met you!" he shouted. "No family. No friends. No #life. Nothing, Goddammit! I had nothing to lose!" He breathed, steadied himself. His thumb and index finger held the bridge of his nose and he closed his eyes tightly. "Then you come along, you come along and you make me fall in love with you. You have to give me something to lose." He faced the bed and opened his eyes. "I cared about you! I loved you! And you had to do this to me! They want to cut you up and use your organs! They want me to let them cut you up and send bits of you off to "people who need it!" Goddammit!" He saw her again. She was wearing a red sundress with a strappy back and black gladiator sandals. Her elbows rested on the wooden pier. Her eyes were closed and she let the sound of the waves fill her ears, let the wind blow through her blonde hair. He had to repeat himself. "Will you go to dinner with me Friday night?" Her eyes opened. There was stunning blue. Her lips curled at the corners to reveal a row of pearly white teeth. "Are you asking me out?" He grinned down at her. "Yes, I am." "Shouldn't you know my name first?" "Should I? I like mysteries." "And I like spoiling mysteries," she said with a wink. "I'm sorry, sir." A hand was on his shoulder, and the monitor's obssessive and constant beeping returned. "I'm sorry, sir," Dr. Hamilton said again. She cleared her throat and tapped her clipboard with a pen. "You will have to make a decision now." He glanced over at his wife. She's sleeping, he decided. He took the pen and signed his name. "Save those lives," he whispered to the blonde haired scarred and brainless woman on the bed. His hand held her foot. It was warm beneath the blankets. "I miss you." Her body blurred, the room swirled around him, and he awoke in sterile bedsheets in a dark empty room without a monitor. A nurse touched his shoulder. "They've finished, Mr. Daniels. Come see her."