The nauseating stench of clinical products is obscenely overwhelming. It invades my entire being and I can feel myself getting a bit queasy from just breathing air. Not even the grim repear could escape the pungent smell of an overly sterile room of the sorts. Of course, I knew this scent all too well.

I hear the door creak open somewhere from my right. I whip my head to the possible intrusion and blink. Like, I actually feel the movement of my eyelids opening and closing. But I'm faced with nothing. I am nothing. My world is an infinty of nothing.

"Hello, Miss, I just need to check up on you. Would you like some water? You must be dreadfully thirsty." The voice says. It's quite deep, so I'll assume and half- this. This dude is probably a dude.

I feel myself nod. Strands of hair tickle the bottom of my chin, and I reach up to tuck them behind my ear. I hope they'll keep in place. But I notice, my movements feel jagged, and disoriented. It's like my arm isn't even attached to my body. But it actally is.

A large and calloused hand gently prods mine open. I flinch. I hate it when people touch me. This guy tries again though, and I let myself enjoy some type of contact between human civilisation, and I. A swoosh resonates through the room, and in my left hand, a weight that feels like styrofoam of the sorts is in my grasp. I look down at it. I see nothing.

"It's water. I'll help you guide it." The voice says.

Gently, the same large calloused hands grip my elbow and wrist. By some miraculous miracle, it touches my lips. My lips feel like sandpaper, and I swipe my tongue over the dryness of them. The first drip of water lands onto the Sahara Desert (my tongue), and chug the rest down without a care in the world. I want more, but it's greedy of me to ask. I grew up like that.

I inhale and scrunch my nose in displeasure. I hate t