The shuffling receded and I listened comfortably to the beeps as they chimed out into the silent stuffiness of the room. From the sound’s echo, I could almost tell that the room was an off blue-green, with matching curtains and bedding, all making the room look dull and lifeless. I knew this from the way the room smelt, and from the way the sun reflected off of the walls and hit my throbbing face. The sunlight was too subdued to be reflected off of white walls, and too intense to be from dark walls, so calculating ray intensity combined with warmth and mustiness factors, I knew that I had indeed guesses right, that my room was the color of a stormy winter high tide that wallowed against the seawall that I stood on, and that’s how the blue-green color of the room made me feel, chilled yet warm from the way it reflected the reluctant sun’s welcome light.
More aware than ever, I struggled with the sensation of looking down from above. I felt dizzy as I looked down at the room, everything clean and calculated, disinfected and sterile. I saw myself there amongst the high tide, and watched as my body ebbed with the tide of machines and medicine that pulled and pushed against my body’s gravity, all working in conjunction of moving something that seemed immovable. I felt too high, too removed from down below to feel anything other than the sickness that floated uncontrolled through my body. Sometime later, I saw and heard a cry from the body in the bed below me, and I heard the dedicated shuffling of footsteps once again as they rounded the corner into my room, their eyes wide and talking loud and firm. A little of this and a tweak of that, and the seawall that I stood on shrank and shrank until my feet were level with the ones in the bed, and exhausted I lay down and joined the shape as another smile crossed my lips from the realization that the room was more a greenish-blue than a bluish-green.