MADI

The stale air of the hospital room clung to me like a shroud. I opened my eyes and felt a dull ache radiating from my limbs.

I panicked and looked around.

What am I doing here?

My head throbbed with a pounding ache. Hospitals had always been my nightmare – sterile white walls and the harsh glare of fluorescent lights.

My gaze fell on a worn leather handbag.

It was Mom's.

I sighed with relief. I had to find her.

With a groan, I pushed myself upright and walked towards, legs shaky.

My hand reached for the door handle, just as it swung open.

My mother rushed in, her face etched with worry, followed by a harried-looking nurse.

"Mommy?" I croaked my voice barely a rasp.

She ignored me, her eyes fixated on the bed. "Please, check her again! I told you, I saw her blink!"

My blood ran cold. "Mommy?" I called out again, louder this time.

But the only response was the rhythmic beeping of the machines surrounding the figure on the bed.

It was me.

Looking pale and a web of tubes snaking across my lifeless form.

"Jesus Christ," I whispered, the words catching in my dry throat.

Was I dreaming? A ghost haunting my own body?

The nurse finished her examination, her expression grim. "Mrs. Peters," she said gently, "she's still in a coma. It's normal for patients to exhibit reflexive movements – a blink, a twitch. It's a good sign, but..."

My mother's shoulders slumped. "But what?" she said.

"We'll keep doing everything we can," the nurse said, leaving her statement unfinished.

Terror coiled in my gut.
Co-ma? Was it me there?
Who is she? And why does she look exactly like me?

My mom sank beside the bed.

"Madi," she whispered, her voice weak with tears. "Show them, please. Show them you can hear us."

"Mommy, see me here! ," I screamed and tried grabbing her hand and shaking her so she could see me but my hand passed through hers like smoke through thin air.

The nurse sighed and patted my mom's back with pity. "I think you should go home and get some rest, ma. We'll be here if anything changes." Her voice was kind, but her eyes held a flicker of something else – maybe boredom, maybe doubt.

Either way, it stung.

She left the room with a soft click of the door, leaving my mum still crying on the floor.

I tried calling out to the nurse but it was useless. No one could hear me. No one could see me.

What is going on? Am I dead?
No, that couldn't be it.

Dead people don't feel this... this crushing weight of helplessness. Or do they? Am I a ghost?

But how could I be here, seeing everything, feeling everything, yet unable to move, to speak?

Was this some kind of terrible afterlife?

Tears welled up in my eyes, hot and blurry.

I watched, helpless, as Mom reached for the girl on the bed, her touch so tender on the pale, unmoving body - Me.