The slow, steady hiss of the respirator made for percussion to accompany the steady beeps of the heat monitor. I continued to look at his face, hoping for something beyond the rise and fall of his chest. He lay there with tubes and wires sticking out of him, so reminiscent of the process used to create Frankenstein's monster. It was atrocious, an abomination to dignity to keep him trapped thus.
Doctors said it unlikely he would emerge from the coma, but they went through the motions of care as was their due. They were useless, but then so was I. I had power at my disposal, real power, but such power was not universal. I could not bend it to the task of mending the man in front of me.
I said a small prayer for him, an effort I wasn't sure meant anything as the Almighty and I have never truly had a relationship, even when I was mortal, and now that things holy were anathema to me, I tended to avoid all things religious with a fervor. But I knew nothing else to try, and so I simply asked for God to help him, a man who had done much for Him.
No miracles.
No burning bush.
No angels sent from heaven.
No miraculous healing and waking.
Only the steady beep of the heart monitor and the slight hiss of the respirator.