It's 10:57. I'm sick and my head is pounding, so I shut my laptop and make my way to my bed. This apartment is still new to me after two days, but I'm surprised how quickly I can maneuver my way around my room in pitch blackness. I feel uncomfortable as I settle between my sheets. The bed feels humid, moist, and the air conditioning is too cold. I'm freezing. I make a cocoon around myself with the comforter, but I can't stop shivering. I close my eyes.
...
She settles down after an hour of tossing and turning, but she's still shivering. I trail a finger across her forehead. It's damp with a sheen of sweat. I turn to the nurse.
"Can't you control the temperature in here, or give her something? She's cold."
The nurse ignores me as usual, and wheels on its quiet treads to the bed across from us.
"Your drink, sir?" The machine asks in monotone to the patient, offering a platter with a liquid pouch.
"Shove off," he growls. "Don'tcha see I'm in pain here?"
The robot resolutely transfers the drink to his bedside table. It turns to me.
"For assistance, please press the red HELP button," it drones before making its way out of the room.
"I swear it does that just to spite me," I mutter under my breath.
I watch as the gnarly old man in the bed across the way brings out a pen that he's hidden under the thin hospital mattress and pokes thin holes into his drink sack with vengeful glee. A puddle collects under his bedside table drip by golden drip.
...
She settles down after an hour of tossing and turning, but she's still shivering. I trail a finger across her forehead. It's damp with a sheen of sweat. I turn to the nurse.
"Can't you control the temperature in here, or give her something? She's cold."
The nurse ignores me as usual, and wheels on its quiet treads to the bed across from us.
"Your drink, sir?" The machine asks in monotone to the patient, offering a platter with a liquid pouch.
"Shove off," he growls. "Don'tcha see I'm in pain here?"
The robot resolutely transfers the drink to his bedside table. It turns to me.
"For assistance, please press the red HELP button," it drones before making its way out of the room.
"I swear it does that just to spite me," I mutter under my breath.
I watch as the gnarly old man in the bed across the way brings out a pen that he's hidden under the thin hospital mattress and pokes thin holes into his drink sack with vengeful glee. A puddle collects under his bedside table drip by golden drip.
