Between Sleep and Awareness

"...Oohhh, it must be love. The dread and the pain of not seeing you, my heart weeps as it longs for you. Your touch, your gaze..."

It has been days.

I've come to realize that I might be sick—perhaps seriously ill. Every day, I can feel my surroundings shifting, subtle changes that I can't quite grasp. The only constant is the woman who hums and sings with unwavering enthusiasm.

I know it's always her because whenever I wake up—though I can't really call it waking, since I still can't open my eyes, move, or speak—her off-key voice is the first thing I hear.

Every day, I'm cared for. Someone wipes my face and body, changes my clothes, and combs my hair. They check my condition, tending to me as if I were nothing more than a lifeless doll.

At first, I was furious—horrified, even.

No one has ever touched my body since I learned to take care of myself. I still remember when my mother stopped bathing and dressing me—I must have been around eight. From that moment on, I had always handled it myself.

My mind rebelled against the intrusion, but in time, I grew used to it. I suppose I had no choice. At the very least, all of them seemed to be women—thank goodness. That was a relief.

Though I can't see, I can still hear and sense everything within this room.

I've been hoping to catch some gossip—anything that might tell me where I am or what happened to me—but aside from this humming woman, no one ever speaks. No whispered conversations, no idle chatter, just silence.

Well, at least the singing keeps me entertained. She may not have the nicest voice, but she knows the lyrics, and that alone is impressive. Honestly, she sounds so funny sometimes, I might just burst out laughing—if only I could.

Anyway, back to what I was thinking.

Given my condition, I've assumed that I'm in a coma. The inability to move, the unresponsive body—it all adds up. This must be a hospital, and the people tending to me must be nurses and doctors.

I remember watching TV shows where coma patients, despite their vegetative state, could still hear and sense their surroundings. That's exactly what I'm experiencing now. So, for the sake of logic, I've settled on that conclusion.

Then there's the memory of those weird voices—the ones I heard when I first gained consciousness.

Those two people. The ones who kept saying "Your Grace."

It's been ten days since then, and I haven't heard them again. Looking back, maybe it was just a drama playing on a TV somewhere in this room. Someone must have left it on at the time. That would explain why I haven't heard them since.

Still, ten days.

I've stopped feeling hunger, probably because they've been feeding me liquids every day. I'm guessing it's medicine—bitter as hell. If I had the ability to gag, I definitely would have thrown it up by now.

But no. I just have to endure.

How much longer do I have to suffer?

I just want to wake up already. My back is aching from lying in the same position for so long.

If I had known that hunger and sleeplessness would land me in a coma, I would have fought through it. I should have forced myself to cook those damn noodles before passing out.