The room is in a mess, jap textbooks stacked haphazardly on top of a half filled luggage bag lying against a length of unoccupied wall. Another stack of paediatric textbooks shaped like the leaning tower of pisa on the ground behind the swivel arm chair draped with recently borrowed hospital scrubs.
The jarringly red computer table cluttered with sheets marked with pencil scribbles and mug stains, the hospital ID swipe card and flashing oinking piggy keychain, pen torch, pens, slips of to do lists abandoned long ago. The small space restrictive and much too confining for comfort.
The music plays without being paid much notice while the whirring of the fan thrums rhythmically in the background synchronised with gusts of cool air on feverish skin.
The bed. Ah the soft bed. So inviting, slowly eroding wakefulness, the softness lulling the senses. The eyes water and blink. No. Not yet time.
Someone chat with me so that i won’t fall asleep! The fingers are sluggish. The thought count per minute is dropping exponentially, coherent sentences slip through my grasp, the eyes beg to close and remain close.
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