I wake with a loud scream, swiftly shooting my eyes back and forth around the room. The room is white and brightly lit, a small television hangs on the wall. An iv-drip attached to my arm, I’m in the hospital. Where’s my family?
“Hey, can anyone hear me?” I shout.
My voice is cracked, dry, the sound hurts my throat as if passes my lips. A pulsing ache radiates from my stomach, letting me know it was all real. Morphine pumped through my veins, but the pain remained, just as strong as ever.
I fumbled with the remote attached to my bed, trying to press the nurse call button, my eyes unfocused. A young woman walks into the room dressed in pink scrubs, she looks at me hesitantly.
“How may I help you Mr. Martin? Is everything okay?” She speaks quietly.
“Where am I?”
“You’re in Taylor Regional Hospital. You were admitted two days ago for a knife wound to your abdomen.” She said.
“Where’s my family?”
“I’m so sorry Mr. Martin.” She starts, shaking her head. “Their gone.”
“What do you mean gone?”
She gets a pained look on her face, then rushes out of the room.
“I’m so sorry.” She whispers as she leaves.
The words float in the air, echoing in my head. I already know what she meant, deep down I had known all along.
I lay my head back on the stiff pillow and close my eyes.