A Work of Fiction
I woke up to this.
White walls. The smell of bleach piercing my nostrils as an antithesis to my first conscious inhalation. This cot beneath me, both poking me and the only true comfort I have right now. I don’t know where I am.
My eyes sting and I don’t need a mirror to see the red lines that connect my pupils to me. I am awake, but awash in…