You're touching white sheets. They're slightly stiff but not too rough and smell like lavender detergent. On your left, the window view is the black void. You think you can make out some twinkling stars, but its hard to be sure with the dim fluorescent lights throwing glares across the glass. The emptiness makes you uncomfortable so you tear your eyes away. You try to move a little, maybe sit up and look around elsewhere, but then you remember how tired your everything is. Giving in to the flat pillows feels better. A fog lies over your brain. You try to come up with coherent thoughts, but you cant even fully ask yourself why you're here or how it happened. You're so tired. For a minute or an hour you content yourself with blinking at your toes, two linen peaks across a white ocean of wrinkles. They look small, perhaps too far away. Maybe you've forgotten how tall you are. Or that your feet are tiny. Sometime later you remember to take in the rest of the room. There's a white wall ahead of you, one to the right, and presumably one behind you. The right wall has a plain white door with a shiny round doornob. This is debatably the most interesting object in your room. You forget to check the ceiling's state. Wait. Your room. You thought that. Do you live here? A small spark jolts your brain into working again. Is this supposed to be familiar? Where are your family, your friends? Is this place a hospital? Where are the nurses and how long have you been comatose? How did you get... What happened to... Why... The spark fizzes out. The brain fog rolls in again. Even more tired than before, your eyelids droop shut and you fall asleep again. Even sleeping, you're still staring into blackness.
