She gazed out the window to the scene below. The buildings, people, trees, everything blurred together like a child’s hand-painting. The nearby sounds of life were distant to her, familiar yet out of reach.
She turned away, her golden hair slipping out from behind her ear and covering one of her eyes. She looked through the golden strands now laying across her face, but her room’s faded wallpaper and scuffed floors remained unchanged.
She lifted up her pale hands, examining the skin for signs of new freckles or marks. Every pore, every hair, every detail looked exactly as she already knew it would.
She returned her hands to her lap. Her eyes drifted across the floor to an old greeting card, yellowed and warped from age, half-hidden beneath a book she’d read countless times.
“Victoria, my treasure,” the card read in scribbled ink. “I love you and know you’ll be out of the hospital tomorrow. After all, you’re not allowed to die without my permission! Much Love, James.”
She remembered enjoying James’ little joke, back when she thought he had a sense of humor.
Day slipped into night without her notice.