She's complacent.
Not so coherent.
Only vaguely aware of the voice in her ear,
explaining the tests, assuring her
shell only feel a pinch.
But she is acutely and overwhelmingly aware.
Of the hollow needle digging out her pale, jaundiced flesh.
Bruising her like an overripe peach.
And she doesn't know what the nurse is saying.
Only the intricate pattern of the sage colored curtains.
The steady hum of the machines.
Under layers of blankets,
she shivers, convulsing
as if laid in a basin of ice.
And do you know what the doctor thinks?
He thinks she's faking.
Author notes
I hate the hospital.
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