As my arms lay above my head, I find my elbows pressed against my ears,

    or rather pressed against the numbing cool of noise cancelling headphones

(that don’t do a great job at cancelling noise).

    Soft hums of sterile radio pop play as machinery spins around me,

I feel the heat before I hear his faded warnings.

    He leaves as quick as he came,

mumbling meaningless medical terms as he makes his hasty exit.

    Warmth dashes up my legs, racing to cover every inch of my body

before it decides to make a home around my neck.

    Like a python finding its prey,

it squeezes, implementing pressure on my chest.

    My brain screams at me to lunge forward,

to tear my body from the layers of blankets piled on top of me

    and crawl out from this confined cylinder of hell,

but the weakness in my knees forbids me.

    I reach for the cotton bunny ear lying above my head,

only to be met with it slipping further from my grasp,

    as a soft thud follows, echoing from the floor.

Tears prick my eyes as my hand closes tightly,

    I fight off the urge to scream for my mom,

missing the comfort of her large hand wrapped around my small one.

    A robotic voice tells me to take a deep breath

and hold for 1…2…3

    …release.

I flash my eyes upward, waterline turning pink with stinging tears,

    to be met with an animated, apricot-colored fish.

He is decorated with a smile and dancing around a hoard of green coral.

    His eyes meet mine and he speaks to me,

his writings falling off the wall and into vocalization,

    You’re going to be okay, kid.

I don’t believe him,

    I never have.

But I shut my eyes anyways and allow the swift songs to rock me to an unwilling peace.