Weeks of unconsciousness gave way to a throbbing pain in my head. Floaters and shadows of light flickered as someone lifted my eyelids. A cold instrument moved up and down my chest in a circular motion. My legs felt too weak to move. The smell of fresh flowers mixed with the stench of urine filled the room. The IV drip provided nourishment to my undernourished eighty-pound body.
The ringing in my ears finally subsided. I was later able to open my eyes. To my surprise, I was in a private room. No one else was sleeping on either side.
Several doctors surrounded my comfortable hospital bed chatting about my chances for survival.
“Her vital signs are now stable and within the next twenty-four hours we should know more about her cognitive recovery.”
“She is a real fighter to survive a head injury of that magnitude,” expressed one doctor to another. The doctors did not speak to me directly. Sometimes the homeless are invisible to others. One of the nurses told me that I had lost a lot of blood from my head injury.
The last thing I remembered before I fell from the dumpster onto the concrete was the hunger pains that radiated throughout my body. I had lived on the streets for several years. The hospital social worker wanted to know how I became homeless after living a middle-class lifestyle. I told her, I had missed two paychecks.
She did not understand, but agreed to help me find housing.
I hope you enjoyed this 250-word short story that I penned using the word prompt for this week “hunger” created by @jayna listed here.
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