SEVENTY SIX

Twelve years ago...Long Beach Memorial Hospital - Patients Room.

Feeling as if minutes passed by, I weakly opened my eyes to see nothing but blurred with a bright white dot, and all I could think was Tinkerbell.

I fluttered my eyes a few times to clear my eyes, and finally, the light bulb came to view.

I looked up at the ceiling and made my eyes burn.

I squint. I woke up in an unfamiliar room of only white, no peels or dirt. There is no decoration except a borderline of pink and blue bunnies jumping in a line over light green grass.

Two windows at my side with pink drapes covering the sun's brightness. Next to it was a water bag connected to clear tubes that drips water and beeping machines that mommy calls heart monitors that track your heart rate. A needle poking my arm with many stitches wrapped around it like long princess gloves, and seeing them made my stomach ache. I breathe only to find a tube in my nose that shoots air from another machine.

The pain from my head hurts so b