Skylar

Eyelids flutter, resisting the pull of consciousness. The world is a blur—a smear of white and grey. I blink rapidly, trying to dissolve the haze clouding my vision. My senses sharpen, one by one. The sterile tang of antiseptic invades my nostrils, mingling with the underlying scent of freshly laundered sheets. A symphony of beeps and whirs surrounds me, machines speaking a language of life in monotonous rhythm.

I attempt to push myself up, an instinctive need to escape ...