“Over the Wintry” by Natsume Sōseki

Over the wintry

Forest, winds howl in rage

With no leaves to blow

When she returns to consciousness, she only wishes it were over.

“—just dropped like a rock. Oh my god what is wrong? Is something wrong with her? Call an ambulance. Someone call an ambulance right now and tell them the—“

She groans loudly and rolls over, but she can’t bring herself to open her eyes yet. Wouldn’t it be nice to just sleep forever, she thinks to herself. Wouldn’t it be comforting to just lay on the floor, let her body just turn cold and wintry?

The stress she’d been under lately had finally compounded into another episode. She often got lucky and simply passed out in her home, but today she wasn’t so lucky. She’d passed out at work no less, and now her coworkers were huddling over her, gossiping and calling for an ambulance she couldn’t afford. She clenched her fingers and felt the old shag carpet rug beneath her. The small fibers pressed into her palms, moss on the floor of an old forest.

“Don’t call an ambulance,” she said, and it came out as a low moan. All eyes turned to her and someone began to lift her before she protested. “I just need a minute,” but her words are ignored as her coworkers begin to fuss over her, their frets passing over her like westerly winds.

In the distance, the sound of an ambulance already howls.

“Let them in!”

Before she can protest again, she’s lifted onto a stretcher with her consent. She’s already coming to, and she hates the questions that she’s being asked. What day is it? What’s her name? When is her birthday? The inane questions, all while she’s now up and alert yet being forced into the ambulance is enough to send her into a rage.

One of the EMTs jabs a needle into her arm, suffusing her with something in an IV bag. It’s all unnecessary, she protests, but no one listens to her. She wonders if it’s not too late to escape, if there’s something she can knock these two over the heads with.

One of the EMTs tries to make conversation with her, jokingly asks her, “You come here often?“ He smiles and she glares at him, in no mood for humor. She’s already thinking about the insurance bill about to come her way for something so small. “I guess that’s a no.”

It’s a long time before they get her to the hospital and she’s admitted. It’s hours of her sitting in an uncomfortable bed with the needle jabbed in her arm, incorrectly placed so it pinches painfully. Her heart rate is too low, they tell her, and keep her for several more. When finally the registered nurse comes back in and tells her that her heart rate is low, but as there’s been no other causes for alarm, they can finally discharge her. She leaves.

She clenches her fists at her side when she’s in the parking lot, realizing she now has to call a cab to get her home. Another expense, for what? The cab driver pulls up, and she sighs when he turns on the meter. “Where to?”

She has him drop her off a mile from her place. Not because it costs less, but because she does have some control over her life, still. She can walk home, she thinks while she slams the car door shut. As he drives away and she stares after the rear end lights, she closes her eyes and screams, realizing she’s going to have to go into work tomorrow, to face everyone she’d embarrassed herself in front of. Tomorrow, she knows, is going to blow.