Synopsis: A man's vision while stuck in a hospital bed
(Length: 493 Words)

Death constantly surrounds me. The doctors have a persistent eye on me, but they never speak to me. Apparently, my story fascinates them. I have no idea what’s wrong with me. I was in the mountains and woke up to find myself in a hospital bed. They talk about me quite a bit. The jargon makes it impossible for me to understand, but I know it’s about me. It’s always about me. I do not like this situation.

They leave me to my thoughts. I lie in my bed, while chaos surrounds me in the ward. A nurse visits and tries conversing with me. I think her name is Nurse Sharon.Sharon has a mole that looks like a guinea pig took a permanent shit on her nostril, with ungodly teeth that spray out in all directions. She has raggedy brown hair and personal hygiene that resembles a “survival-guide” TV show host after they’ve been “lost” for a month. Her hands are the size of watermelons, with fingers that move like centipedes. Something is clearly wrong, but I do not want to be insensitive to her situation. ­­­

Speaking with the Sharon is more like a one-way gossip talk rather than an actual conversation. I have no choice in the matter, really, other than to listen. Just listen and listen and listen. I’m scared to talk to her. For some reason she confides in me the most secret of her wants, needs and desires – thinking I’m safe from telling a soul. Right now, she’s telling me how much she loves a resident doctor here – saying he looks like a cross between Ryan Reynolds and Ryan Gosling with a personality similar to Joseph Gordon-Levitt. Psh. Sure he does. I don’t have the heart to tell her I prefer the silence to her talking and just want her to shut up about the trivial matters in her life.

I look out my window to break the conversation with the Sharon and see a marathon running alongside my third-story window. There’s a British trapeze artist who is entertaining the public with pygmy-elephants in the street and drinking tea. There’s also a group of primates breakdance-fighting beside my windowsill. Maybe the circus is in town. I look around the room to see anyone else’s reaction to the oddities outside. There are no reactions. I yell for them, but they hear nothing. I scream for any response, yet there’s silence all around me.

I’m retreating within myself. Something is obviously not right. My movement is beginning to tighten and my senses are failing. I lie back down into my bed to catch myself, but I never hit the bed. I continue to fall and the lights get dimmer. Weightlessness never felt so heavy. No one can hear me bawl out in fear. The darkness is closing in. Nothing feels right to me.