angel of death {zeke oneshot}

[Knuckles]

Ezekiel Alexander

Today was a busy day, and Ezekiel had just sat down to shovel some food down his throat. A broken heart pound inside his chest, a kid was brought in, overdosed on some medication, but with the help of the nursing staff he was able to survive. An elderly man came through the doors clutching his chest. Face pale and gray. Sweat rolled down the side of his face, the white shirt he was wearing plastered to his chest - Zeke knew immediately something was wrong. But that was the least of his worries right now. He was fine, and the young medic was famished, but it was just another day for him. Another chance to survive came crashing down when voice radioed in for a cardiac arrest. Throwing the food down, Zeke was on his feet running as fast as he possibly could. He had to save him.

It all went by so fast, and Zeke immediately jumped in started pressing on the chest while everyone else gathered around. Numbers were called out, people charging up the crash cart. It was a terrible sight, and yet people walked in front of the room until the curtains were pulled. Time flew by, and within a matter of minutes, Ezekiel was out of breath, panting as sweat started dripping down his neck. But he wasn't tired enough to let this man lose his life.

"We're losing him!"

Whatever rhythm he had on the monitor was gone.

Beads of sweat rolled from his brow dripping on the unconscious man lying on the table in front of him. Aching knuckles cracked with each compression of the chest- saving someone in cardiac arrest was nearly impossible especially when it wasn't witness. This one was different, though. Zeke watched the man trudge through the door, and people were pulling away wanting to give in, but Ezekiel and a few other nurses and medics gathered around refused to give up. Somewhere inside a sense of hope radiated through his veins, yet he knew it was wrong becoming too hopeful. The body could only take so much, and yet they kept pressing on, pumping the ribs, breathing breaths of fresh air into deflated lungs. Fluids dripped through the different IVs hanging from the pole. Several different drugs were pushed, but it wasn't going to work. But the words kept crawling through his ear as his buddy took over compressing the chest. The sternum was cracking. Fluids were building up, barely any air was passing through the tube setting perfectly inside his lungs. The monitor was beeping, and nurses and doctors kept calling for a rhythm check, but as Zeke locked his eyes on the screen, he knew nothing was there.

Thirty minutes turned into an hour. Everyone was tired, but nobody was willing to give in until one last shock was given.

For a moment, Zeke stared hopeful that the work would pay off, but it wasn't. The nurses called it. Many left the room, others stood staring for just a moment. A silent tear slid down his face. Losing people never got any easier, but maybe had he paid more attention and not went for lunch this man would've survived. Some say they're angels in disguise, but its always a race against the clock to bring back those too far gone.

"Time of death, 1325."

His head dropped knowing his work wasn't enough, but he did all he could, and he tried to make it work, but time just wasn't on his side. When it's time for someone to go, not even the greatest doctor in the world can bring them back.

606 words