Who is This?

By Richelle Doyle - Grade 7 A food truck turned sharply around the corner, speeding toward the crosswalk where youthful Timothy skipped blissfully across. He froze mid-step, instinctively afraid the truck wouldn’t stop. Falling to his knees, he bruised them badly, curling into himself, eyes squeezed shut.

The monitors later beeped loudly, echoing through the spacious hospital room, where Timothy’s parents sat frozen in fear. Dr. Elias entered, gripping a clipboard in one hand, adjusting his glasses with the other. In a deep, husky voice, he read aloud the results: a skull fracture causing internal bleeding.

“We need surgery to stop the bleeding. There’s a risk of deterioration if we delay. Do we have your conse—”

Before he could finish, the monitor flatlined. Panic erupted. Dr. Elias—just a stand-in for the busy surgeon—shouted into the hall, “Code! We need the OR team now!” He threw his clipboard aside and began CPR, working vigorously until Timothy stabilised. Without waiting, driven purely by emotion, he rushed Timothy into surgery and performed it himself, breaking every rule.

The boy lived. But because Elias had crossed the line, he was fired, ironically, on the very day he planned to retire.

Many years passed. Elias grew old and lonely; family members had either passed or abandoned him. With nothing left, he searched for the boy who had once given his life purpose. Months of effort drained his last savings, even on expensive gifts, in hopes Timothy would remember him.

At last, Elias arrived at the family’s home. He knocked on the door and was greeted by the same parents, older now, but instantly recognizing him. Their hearts sank with emotion, and they eagerly introduced him to their grown son. Timothy, however, still lived under their care because his Alzheimer’s had worsened so badly that he couldn’t function without constant help.

In the background, a middle-aged Timothy sat quietly, a crossword puzzle resting on his lap. Slowly, he rose and stumbled to the doorway.

Dr. Elias smiled through trembling lips, his arms heavy with gifts. Timothy stuttered, his voice weak, and whispered under his breath:

“Who is this?”