Pretend You’re Still Asleep
When I opened my eyes, I didn’t know where I was.
The ceiling was white. Not my ceiling. My bedroom ceiling has a water stain in the corner shaped like the state of Ohio, and this one didn’t. There was a beeping sound somewhere to my left. Slow and steady. There were tubes taped to the back of my hand. When I tried to take a deep breath, something behind my ribs ached, dull and heavy, like somebody had parked a car on my chest and forgotten to move it.
I didn’t remember how I got there.
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