Light shone behind her closed eyelids. The beeps, wails, footsteps, shouts, voices hovering over her head, they all faded and grew like a series of doors opening and closing to blare or snatch the sound waves on a whim. She could feel nothing but an odd, disembodied tingling in her fingertips and the stiff, jutting awkwardness of the needle in her arm. Her awareness of the IV, the panic induced by its casual intrusion into the comfort of her skin, shut off everything else -- voices, light, numbness -- leaving only a violent nausea that engulfed her and just as quickly
black.
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