#writing
#writingexercise
#writingpractice

Beep...Beep...Beep

The sound seemed so far away but she had to know what it was, and so she followed it. Onward through the dense fog that seemed to cling to her skin, she walked. Every step was labored as her legs felt heavy and reluctant to cooperate. There were no sounds to break the silence, other than that steady beep..beep..beep.

She slipped and was falling...

She opened her eyes but it was bright in the room. Too bright. It took some time for her eyes to adjust and to bring into focus the room in which she found herself. To the right was a machine, the source of the steady beeping from her dream. The air held various odors - antiseptic, bleach, blood and many variations of chemicals. The walls were white and in need of a fresh layer of paint as there were chips, stains and cracks that made it look unkempt.

The faded blue flower curtains, shredding at the bottom, looked as though they had past their prime decades ago. The ceiling was stained with old watermarks from where the roof must have leaked - or maybe still did.

She was in a bed with railings. A thin, white blanked covered her but it was full of patches and looked like it wouldn't stand another round of fixes. Her pillow was barely two inches thick and was very firm, rather uncomfortably firm. Every move she made would send a rustle from the pillow to her ears, almost like crunching newspapers. Perhaps that's what it was stuffed with.

She struggled to remember where she was and how she got there. She couldn't focus. In her mind, she was searching for something, any shred of a clue to solve the mystery. It was then that she realized she didn't know her name, her age or where she lived. Nothing. Nothing at all came to mind....

OMG, I imagined her in a coffin with the flat firm pillow.