A foggy day, says the window glass pane.
The blurred medical staff in special suits must suit everyone except they must look like astronauts to the kid in the bed near the exit.
The frequency of alarms increases by the hour, punctuating the static from the standard ICU gear.
The throbbing sobs from a neighbor rest at last. What looks like the last leaf is still moving on the drawn-back curtain.
Since when a heave a sigh has become a great relief? What a huge relief is the absence of plumbing around my head.
My cold hands confirm the low temperatures. This is slowly boosting the heat in the soles of my feet under the white sheets.
Does the absence of anybody around for quite long confirm that the God Almighty is still immune to me?
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