ANGEL OF DEATH
I’d awaken in a hospital bed dressed in a soft blue cotton gown. A quick prick alerted me to my hand. Someone had administered a drip as I stared blankly at the syringe attached to my taped hand. A bag of clear solution hung beside my bed on a pole.
A heart monitor ticked annoyingly nonstop in my ear as I noticed thin-white wires trailing from the monitor to small flat disks stuck to my chest.
The perfume of antiseptic wafted in the room and burned my eyes. Typical of a hospital. A shaft of light filtered through the drawn curtains covering a small window. Apart from the monitor’s light, the thin stream was the only light in the room. Howling wind kept rattling the windowpane. Louisiana was the central station for thunderstorms.
Sleep was out of the question, not that I
