Michael
What I was aware of first was pain. It wasn’t stabbing, but dull and pounding, giving me a full body ache. Then came the sounds. Beeping machines, lowered voices, the gentle hiss of oxygen.
I wanted to open my eyes but they were so heavy. I was able to pry them apart a bit, squinting in the bright glare of fluorescent light.
White ceiling. Medical equipment. Hospital room.
I was alive.
"Michael?" A voice, soft and familiar. Betty.
I rotated my head agonizingly slowly and each move sent sharp shots of pain through me. Betty was in one of the chairs beside my bed, slumped over herself. She had dark circles under her eyes, and her hair was pulled back haphazardly; she was still wearing the clothes I’d seen her in last.
“Hey,” I croaked, my throat hoarse and constricted.
Betty'
