Staring relentlessly at the purple and green squared curtain hanging motionless from the iron hooks above.
Whispers drift inward, around and under the purple-green divider, "where is her family, no one is here for her."
Alone. Happy being so. Miserable as well. I wanted no one here. I wanted *someone* here. I get my first wish. Alone.
They will be here. I tell them. Sister dropped me off. Brother will pick me up. My family works. (But not all of them)
Groggy awakening from my drug induced stupor. My legs are floating, but I see from the mirror above that they only lie there.
Screws placed. Wound closed. Stitches tied. Batting wrapped. Plaster dried. Tingling disappeared. And still, no one is here.
This is the way I prefer it - the world at a distance. Everyone at my fingertips, held distantly away.
Still, I am sadened by the whispers; dredging up memories of a time long lost - when I urned not for solitude.