I don’t know how long I floated in the void. Time doesn’t exist when you aren’t really there. It could have been minutes; it could have been years. It was a black, silent ocean.
Then, sound returned.
It started as a dull hum, vibrating through the floorboards of my mind. Then, the squeak of rubber wheels on linoleum. The distant, rhythmic whoosh of a ventilator.
I tried to open my eyes. Nothing happened.
I tried to twitch a finger. Nothing.
I tried to scream. I’m here! I’m here!
The scream echoed inside my skull, loud and desperate, but my lips didn’t move. My lungs didn’t expand on my command. I was a prisoner in a bone cage.
“Time of death…” a weary voice began.
No! I screamed internally. I am not dead!
Then, a cold sensation on my chest. A stethoscope? No, something colder. A silence in the room that felt heavy, respectful, and terrifying.
“Wait,” a second voice cut in. Sharp. Urgent. “I have a flutter. Here. Look at the monitor.”
“It’s residual,” the first voice dismissed.
“No. It’s a rhythm. She’s not gone. She’s locked in.”
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