I could hear the tossing and turning, at various points throughout the night, although I did my best to ignore it every time I was conscious of it. I furrowed my brows and tried to will myself back to sleep. I could tell my body was just surviving at this point, I was low on gas in the tank. I felt delirious and the warm haze of something helping me through, holding my hand in the dark hospital room.

The drugs were wearing off, and the pain was starting to come back in full force. The pain settled on my abdomen like a summer rain storm before a hurricane. There was a certain sharpness and jaggedness that led to shortness of breath. I had shallow breaths, each inhale hurting more than the last. I attempted to roll over, but groaned when I realized I could not. My sobering reality was that I could barely move and what I could move, hurt like hell. I was fully awake in a pitch black room, my eyes fluttering open. A wet tear trickles down my cheek.

"I'm so sorry Anna, I didn't mean to hurt you," a voice trembles.

There were others here too. I wasn't alone. I still myself, although I was already rigid, to hear more. I hold my breath.

The same voice croaks, “Anna, my love, please forgive me. She wasn’t worth ruining our lives over.”

Immediately I think infidelity. Anna, his poor wife, was betrayed by his selfish actions of him, sneaking around with a mistress, the elusive “she”. Well his mistress had another lover, beat him up well, and that’s how he ended up in the hospital and has to tell his wife.

Then I think child neglect. Anna, his daughter, that he never acknowledged or showed her he loved her because he was always busy. He took risks unbeknownst to her to keep the family afloat, those bets didn’t pan out, and he got beat up by some mafia men. Maybe “she” is a stepmother or maybe a mafia matriarch, someone he just should not have been involved with. Maybe “she” represents the dream of more money, a better life, and opportunity, and it wasn’t worth jeopardizing his health and maybe others’.

Now this man is sick, he wants remorse and someone to nurse him back to health, even if he has betrayed her, Anna’s, trust. I don't know the full story of course, but it seems likely that people assume that they are untouchable and won't ever need their loved ones - that they can always upgrade and “do" better. Money will solve these people’s issues, and their perception is that they can throw it at the problem to make it shrink or wipe it away. Or evading their problems will somehow always work, they will outrun Death chasing them and every obstacle. It works when you’re young, but at one point it catches up with you.

Well old man. Here we both are. They may not be able to save us, or maybe just one, or maybe we’ll both come out of here. A sting penetrates my rib cage. But I don't have anyone out there waiting for me. If I live or die, nobody will be notified. I'll just incur bills that will add up unpaid in my mailbox. Kind of like if I were dead just like I were alive. I wonder what his real story is. Who is he? Where did he come from? Who is his Anna? How grave are his injuries? Will he get better? I’ll have to ask in the morning. I wince in pain and remember I have a button to call my nurse. I find the button, already nestled in my palm, and instinctively press a button.

A few minutes later, the light flickers on and a nurse glides into the room. She’s in navy blue scrubs and holding a binder. Her dark eyes look concerned about my well-being.

“Hi Anna dear, how are you feeling?” she chimes, “what seems to be the issue that you notified us for, and just for my information, on a scale 1 to 10, how bad is your pain tonight, darling?”

Did I hear her right? I’m Anna? That must be a coincidence.

"I'm not sure. The drugs are wearing off. Not well.” I motion for her as best as I can to come closer. She hesitates but leans in apprehensively. I whisper, but it comes out as a croak, “Who is the gentleman sharing the room with me?”

Her eyes widen and her lip twitches, a look of confusion mists her face. “You mean if you’ve had any visitors? I can check the log. We don’t do shared rooms at the hospital.” she replies.

How can that be? “Yes, could you check please” another croak. Another sharp stab in my side. I don’t know why I am here. Just that I am all alone. “Also could you explain to me why I am in the hospital, I have some brain fog, I can’t recall.”

“Oh hun, we thought you were getting more lucid. We’ll have to up the doses.” she sighs, making note of it on her clipboard.

The pain is getting even worse and my desperation is multiplying. More tears form in my eyes. Should I tell her what I heard, will she think I’m crazy? Am I crazy?

“l hope you get better soon love. Stop fighting yourself - your road uphill is strenuous but not insurmountable. I want to see you get better, Anna. You have to let go of your own guilt; you’re your own enemy.” she preached, as she slowly stepped towards the IV bag. She released something in it, and I felt a release of euphoria and numbness.

I took a deep breath in and melted into the bed. Before I could understand, the door was opened, then shut, and she had disappeared.

“Anna, love, you’ll be okay” the voice crooned and my lips sealed.

“I need to confess something”

“Jesus Christ what the hell”

“I must confess”

“Oh phew, it’s the guy next to me in that hospital bed, not a demon”

“I am”

“Is he asleep?”

“A DEMON”

wakes up creepily and stares into other characters soul with red eyes

“HOLY QUACAMOLE!”

“RAGHAH”

“THIS IS HARASSMENT!”

“HARGHAH”

“I DO NOT GIVE YOU CONSENT TO DO THIS TO ME”

“Okay, I’m sorry.”

All I see is black. I can only feel pain as I take each breath. I gain the strength to open my eyes. “Where am I?” I say. My throat is dry, and it hurts to speak.

I see a nearby nurse walk towards me. “Oh Miss Shelby, you’re awake! It’s alright, you’re at the hospital.” I try to sit up, worry filling my face. “But what about my restaurant?! My business!” I cough, my throat can’t take this. I need water.

The nurse looks at me with concern. “Ms. Shelby, I’m sure the firefighters did everything they could, but you need to take it easy on yourself. The smoke Inhalation made you pass out and you have several burns on your body.”

What?

I look down at my skin and can see burns on my arms. “Why can’t I feel them?”

“Ms. Shelby, it’s probably your adrenalin and the pain meds you’re on rn. They’ll take time to heal and might leave scars.” The nurse’s head turned to the right as the doctor grabbed his attention. “Oh, I’ll be back in a while. Need anything when I get back Ms. Shebly?”

“Just some water. Thanks.”

As the nurse walks away, I drift to sleep. God, it’s been a long day.

—

I’m making rounds around the restaurant as I hear a clicking sound in the kitchen. “Chef, do you hear that?” The chef looks around and shakes his head. “Not that I can hear, Boss.”

I dismiss the thought and continue my rounds.

I’m standing by the host stand when I hear yelling from the kitchen. I run back to find flames up to the ceiling. The costumers caught wind of the flame and ran out of the building. I run to find the extinguisher, but it’s not in its place. “Shit! Where is it?!” I look around to see a server just holding it and looking at me. “What are you doing? Put out the flame!”

And with that, my vision goes black.

—

I wake up sometime later, not loving the dream I had. I notice a new patient next to me, but the curtain between us doesn’t allow me to see his face.

Ring Ring

Is that his phone? I question. I hear him answer the call. His voice is scratchy and deep. Sounded like he needs some water too.

“Hello?” I hear him say.

“Yes, this is him… Yes, the building has been destroyed… I believe so. I hit her on the head with a fire extinguisher.”

I shift in my hospital bed in discomfort. What? Why would someone do that?

"Yes. I naturally made the fire. There shouldn’t be any traces… What? What about my money?! I didn’t burn Shelbys restaurant down for nothing!”

He… What?

I’m shaking violently, my anxiety going through the roof. He burned my restaurant down? Did he try to kill me?

“Yes sir… Of course. I always finish the job.” I hear him hanging up his phone and groan. Shortly after, I hear snores.

What in the world did I do to deserve this? Do I tell someone? Do I run?

A voice interrupted my thoughts. “Ms. Shelby, I brought you some water!”

Oh. Right.

“Thank you.”

pressure cooker has a dynamic personality noise I can’t hear skeleton corporeality

in my wasted youth I ate hydraulic, in reality (just another nothing hoarder) just another hoarder to fear swedish death cleaning, skinny

i’m back in the hospital reframe bullshit I try to make libido for mosquitos when’s the last time I got tanned?

so fun fact, im always here oh roommate, am I crazy yet? or, this useless doctor my closest equivalent to love?

The rhythmic beeping of the machine next to me is both simultaneously irritating yet comforting. I never want to hear the beep again but the consistency of the sound also gives me something to hold onto. Especially during these sleepless nights. The curtains are drawn and the only light I have is the red flashes from the same machine beeping beside me. Visiting hours ended a while ago so my friends have left, but I’m not alone. The other patients I share the room with are asleep, no one else being awake at three in the morning. Some get woken up regularly for medicine, the nurses being as quiet as a breath and carefully avoiding waking anyone else up. My last nurse came at one and I’ve been awake since. My brain can’t seem to shut up, and instead of fighting it I’ve just made my peace with the fact, letting my thoughts run wild. My self created peace is briefly interrupted when the patient next to me starts to sleep talk. “It wasn’t me… she isn’t… dead…” Though the words were mumbled I still snap to attention. It could be nothing, a lucid dream, or it could be something completely relevant. I sit through the rest of the night with my brain repeating the same question. Who did he kill?

Terry Gregory sat with his father Tim, as he died.

He sat silently, in the cold and desolate hospital room. The only light coming from the small bedside lamp, the beeps of his heart monitor being the only sound. The beeps grew further and further apart, with each passing second.

He should have been there more. He figured that every kid thought this when it came time to say goodbye, but deep down he knew he should have been there more. As soon as he moved out, the void between them grew and grew and he did nothing to stop it. A phone call on the holidays and that was it. No weekly check-in texts or calls. Nothing.

Terry exhaled a shuttered breath and lowered his face into his palms. He shivered slightly from the coldness of the hospital room. He swiped the tears from his eyes as he returned his focus to his father.

He couldn't remember the last time he spoke to him in person. What was it? Four? Five years ago?

What kind of son was he?

The beeps continued to grow further and further apart. Terry hesitated to look at the time, it felt blasphemous. As if looking would encourage his father's inevitable passing.

So he sat there in the dark as his father drew his final breaths.

And then...

He moved.

The beeps from the heart monitor became faster and faster.

"Holy shit. Dad!?" Stammered Terry.

He pushed himself out of his seat, so fast that the chair toppled over. He grabbed his father's hands.

His father's eyes shot open, scanning the room frantically before locking onto his.

"Dad! It's okay. I'm here. Take it easy okay?" Pleaded Terry.

His father's lips trembled as he tried to speak.

Terry shook his head and patted his father on the shoulder. "No. Don't speak Dad, you're fine."

"I did it." Whispered Tim.

Terry frowned. He fumbled his words, trying to make sense of what his father was saying.

"I did it" Tim repeated. His voice was shrill and frail.

Terry shook his head in confusion. "Did what Dad? What did you do?"

His father's cold and grey eyes locked onto his as he tightened his grip around Terry's hands. Hard enough to make Terry wince, Terry did his best to pull away but Tim wouldn't let go. He could feel his hands growing colder by the second.

"I killed my family all those years ago. I killed my parents, my brother, and my sister. I did it."

The next thing Terry heard was the flatline of his fathers heart monitor.

I had surgery on my elbow this morning, so my doctor wanted me to stay in the hospital overnight for observation. I was put in a room with a stabbing survivor. She was nice, really quiet, so we didn’t talk very much.

Different members of my family visited over the course of the afternoon, but she didn’t have anyone visit her at all. It was strange, but I decided not to linger on her problems when I had my own.

Night soon came, but bringing no sleep with it. I have insomnia, so it is really hard to fall asleep at night. I got out my current book and started reading my heart away. I was immersed in the world of hobbits and dwarves when I was pulled back to reality by murmurs coming from the bed next to mine.

I thought my roommate was talking to me, but I quickly realized that she was talking in her sleep. Most of what she was saying was hard to determine, but one phrase stuck out from the rest.

“I had no choice, I had to kill him.”

Terrified, I pulled my blanket close around me and wondered if her dream had anything to do with the stab wound she was recovering from. I couldn’t shake the dread clinging to me like a heavy shawl so I decided I would go out to the hallway and tell the nurse on duty what I had heard. She would know what to do. Hopefully.

When we returned to the room, we encountered a sight that made us tremble and gasp. My roommate was holding a knife. And she was looking directly at me.

Sitting up in this creaky hospital bed is hard. The mattress is tricky. I tried to remember why I got here, and who these people are that say they are my family.

People keep telling me I got hit by a speeding bus on highway 139, but I don’t even remember what or where highway 139 is. The side of my face has a tire mark along it, so it must have been some kind of automobile. But I don’t know whether to trust these people or not.

The person next to me was asleep. They kept murmuring something, but I couldn’t tell what it was, so I just ignored it.

My breakfast had come. It was whole grain cereal, toast, and orange juice. Decent for hospital food, but I just hoped I wasn’t allergic to anything. I couldn’t remember.

After breakfast, I wiped my mouth and pushed my food to the edge of my bed. That’s when I heard the murmuring again. I didn’t pay much attention to it that time either. My “family” walked in and held my hand. I yanked it away, not knowing if they were true or not. A little boy, about 4 or 5 walked in with balloons and a fluffy teddy bear. He handed them to me.

“Here you go, Lottie.”

Lottie. My name was Lottie. Good to know.

The little boy walked out into the hall and closed the door behind him. I, on the other hand, sat up, and held my hands against my ears. Pounding headache, and the slight sound of music in the back didn't help at all.

The patient on my right began the murmuring again. It sounded like nonsense, but I couldn't tell because she was too far away for my ears.

I tried to listen closer by getting up. My feet hit the ground, and it was cold. You could hear my feet click and rise from the ground as I walked.

Step. Step. Step.

Then it hit me. My family was there! The little boy who told me my name was Lottie was my brother! I was walking in Alade Park, carrying 7 books on my way to the office, when I got hit by a bus!

That’s when I saw the girl next to me stand up. She started to walk towards me.

“Lottie. I know it’s crazy, but I’m your sister seven years from now. I traveled into the future, and got into a bus crash with someone I didn’t even see walking across the road! They had books in their hands too! I don’t know what to do! I’m gonna go to prison or something for attempted murder! Please help me! You have to believe me! I got my legs severely scraped, and they hurt so bad! I’m struggling right now, and you have to help me! Please, Lottie!”

What just happened? Is this girl really my sister? I’m so confused I don’t even know what to say. I’m speechless.

“I- I-“ I stuttered.

This anonymous girl went back to her hospital bed and lay down like she was hurt. Was she really my sister? Should I tell someone that she claimed to be my sister from the future? Should I tell my present sister?

“Thanks,” I say to the nurse, putting on I’m reapplying my bandages over my nasty cut.

An older man came in today, is in a bed beside me, behind one of those curtains that separate the beds in a hospital. He was out cold, and kept muttering but all of it incoherent. I turned on the news in hopes to drowned out his voice.

“Was found murdered, in his own home, it's said he was stabbed-“ I turned off the tv, not the stupid, thing nobody cares about kind of thing I was hoping to hear. Suddenly I hear the first coherent words the old man said

“It was Luke, the boy. Luke West. He killed him, he wants revenge for his parents.”

I sit there stunned, then I lean over trying to reach the curtain. I fell out of my bed and yell in pain. My nurse came running in and said “Lia what are you doing?” She helped me into my bed again. Then checked both the bandages on my leg and my arm to make sure they hadn’t been displayed and checked to make sure my stitches didn’t split open. She sighed

“ what were you doing?”

“Who is that? Behind the curtain?”

“Mr. Oswald, why?”

“Why is he here?”

“He was found alone in an abandoned alley, all beat up. You sure your ok” she said leaning in to check the temperature of my forehead

“ yes I’m fine, I just, I heard that man say something”

“What?!” She said standing up “what? What did he say?”

“Well…you know about that murder?”

“Yeah, one of my other patients was just watching the news.”

“Well, he said that a person, a boy actually, is the one who killed him. He said his name was Luke West, and that he wanted revenge for his parents”

Two hours later my bed and the man's bed are surrounded by police, the curtain between us now open, I had to answer countless questions, so did Sarah, my nurse. In the end (which was two in the morning) I was exhausted, but I couldn’t fall asleep. But eventually, I did, and I never heard about it again.

It's the fifth time within an unbroken 40 days that I lay ridden to this bed. It was a right ulnar fracture 2 years prior from a clumsy and much humiliating incident I shall dare not mention, and to cater to resurfacing torment of the abhorrent sensation of pain, a gift had befell in the pill of the poppy. Not once before had I been made aware of its existence; hence once I felt the unrivaled euphoria that words itself would struggle to define, it was a necessity from thereon after. It was an essential; the requirement to my capability to function that one would deem normality. But, like most things, what another would define normal, is just a form of unadulterated subjectivity. Once I could no longer feed my habit by "normal" and yet legal means, I had coerced myself to believe that a substitution, of any resemblance, would suffice. So the dope in the guise of a needle became a tether I never realized I coveted. I went about to obtain this bliss with intended ambivalence for the foul substance irregarding the incessant promise to cease its indulgence. But one with wisdom knows old habits die hard, and this was a revenant that I had Indubitably tried to slay, and no matter the trial, it was defiant to stay buried. Thus, like a loyal dog, the craving was forever nigh my side; and if I am being truthful I can say it was the constant thing I was allowed absence of any worry. overtime, I had over-indulged as any could correctly guess on innumerable accounts, and rendered myself incapacitated alongside unintended surrender to the presence of the grim; the reaper who knew my death was surely imminent.
I was revived and began the familiar convalescence in room 104. Oh if one appreciated the humor in the irony of how many times I've imbibed if that opiate derivative was a liquid; for that number was my scarlet letter plastered upon the frame beside the door! So when the nurse, who by then, was disgusted of my relentless readmittance left the room proceeding the readings of my vitals, I overheard through an adjoining curtain, another person, or should I say man, who shared the same compartment mention something that I, myself due to my current state of instability, cannot with utmost certainty declare any implausibility. To ascertain that he himself was of sane mind when that allegation was relayed cannot be promised. To another extent, to whom was this declaration made to hear? What was overheard would make even the most pious question their convictions. I must emphasize that it was not the words itself, but the genuinity that encompassed their tone, planting the seed of paranoia.

"The virus was only meant to affect the negro population."

I did not mention my insensitivity to this communicable contagion, and my permitted refuge due to my recklessness in place of those whose ailments far prioritized my own. Nonetheless, once again, I was granted to live. However, with this new life came with the inability to unhear a truth that many had tried to unveil. I now yearned the proof of its authenticity. The consecutive afternoon after much needed rest, I had persuaded myself to bring that inquiry to the unacquainted bedfellow of said statement that I hoped was surely absentmindedly uttered. However, uncannily in unforeseen circumstances, the ambiguity of my room's companion was declared deceased upon my waking hour. It was then I took notice of the towering stature of another dressed in the bleakest of attire lurking near the perimeter of the room's door. Suffice to say he did not fit in with the aforementioned "normal" standards, and ever so slightly shifted his gaze in my direction. Or, so I am led to believe his stare grasped my own; for the difficulty to tell was due to the position of obsidian lenses atop his bridge omitting any light. The austere countenance he withheld in the direction of that presumed glare heralded the cliche of the stirring of my soul. With words astray, his grim expression succeeded with a shift in his stance across the threshold as he turned and sauntered down the corridor; the dreadful truancy of sounded footsteps; it was as if I witnessed a damn apparition! What seemed like segregated dots dwelling in happenstance was soon deduced that this twas no coincidence. I am still breathing, yes; am I to consider it another gift perhaps? But with this gift I am fully at a loss for its purpose, only to know the unequivocal truth behind the present pandemic. Living with the knowledge that the entirety of mankind's consequences, are irrefutablely intentional is unbearable. Fuck.....maybe there's a return policy. If not, OD it is, and this time shall be permanent.