When Mai Mingle woke, the bedroom was pitch-black. Night still seeped through the curtains.
She was in her familiar bedroom. In the corner of her vision, she saw the rail of her hospital bed. A plastic bag hung from it, filled with tissues the social worker used to wipe her mouth, leftover sweet biscuits, and other trash Mai Mingle needed to throw away without getting up.
'So it was all a dream...'
The despair, loss, and fear of that moment felt like waking up trapped in a car—an iron coffin—sinking to the bottom of a deep river.
Just as Mai Mingle was about to cry, she suddenly realized a dull ache was throbbing in her foot. Everything in the room also seemed clearer than usual... 'That's right, I can actually see the plastic bag clearly.'
She fumbled her way into a sitting position on the bed. The first thing she saw was her foot, which had been hastily bandaged until it looked like a pillow.
'It wasn't a dream... It really wasn't a dream.'
