Your skull begins to pound with the disjointed information pouring in. Your mother continues wandering around the room talking about folding imaginary laundry, and scolding you for sitting too close to the tv.
"Ma'am" another voice enters the space from doorway. "Ma'am you know you aren't allowed to be in here by yourself. Are you supposed to be out of your room?" they ask caringly. You hear a second set of heels enter the room, these ones have a softer sound.
"Let me say goodbye to my little bug" You hear your mother say as the hard heels click across the floor. Her face again appears in front of you. You realize now, looking at her a second time that she is much older than you remember her. It looks as if she has aged 10 years. Ten years! It can't be! How is that possible? Panic again sets in as you beg your body to reach out and grab your mother. You see that she is holding your hand to her lips. Your nails are perfectly manicured and painted in a beautiful pale pink. You cannot feel her touch. She kisses your hand and bends down to your ear.
"Don't you worry my sweet bug. I will never let you go." Her face moves out of your line of sight and you hear the pair of heels clipping and clopping on the linoleum floor, followed by the click of the heavy door closing behind them. You are left alone with the cool blue illumination of the ceiling tiles and the monotonous hum and beep of the machines that are obviously maintaining your miserable existance.
The days come and go. The only change comes with the nightly dimming of the lights in the room. You hear nurses come and go but they rarely talk to you or even come into your line of sight. A new color of mylar balloon occassionally gets delivered and every once and a while you inhale a scent from a new bouquet of flowers that you can only imagine are next to you on the bedside table.