Medical equipment, gauges, indicator lights.
The room seemed drowned in gray haze. Only the electronic monitors gave off the occasional glimmer, brightening and fading like weakly breathing stars. But there was nothing alive in that light. It could not drift through the air or flicker with emotion. It had none of the gentle beauty of fireflies.
The lights came on and went dark for one reason alone: their preset programs told them to. They faithfully reported every change in the data.
The little girl was awake.
No amount of sheets or padding could make the bed feel any less narrow and hard. She had been awake for some time, but she did not want to open her eyes.
A faint, mechanical breeze flowed through the oxygen tube at her nose. The low hum of the machines filled her ears. The warmth of that green meadow was gone. So were the white deer grazing with their heads bowed, the gentle sun, the soothing breeze, and that bright, open world where the light never hurt her eyes.
All of it had been stripped from her senses in an instant, cleanly and cruelly, without leaving even a trace behind.
She lay motionless, as though she had already drifted back to sleep.
Ten minutes later, she finally opened her dull eyes.
There it was again: the ceiling that had become part of her world, and the lonely darkness of the hours before dawn. She tried to turn her head, but the oxygen line tugged uncomfortably at her nose, so she moved only her eyes. There was little to see in a room crowded with medical equipment.
Her gaze settled on the window.
It was late, and outside was pitch-black. But to her, that darkness was not truly empty.
Somewhere out there, people had to still be awake. Some were working. Some were talking late into the night with friends. Others were exchanging messages with the person they loved.
Once her imagination began to wander, it knew no boundaries. As she stared through the empty window, she could almost see an ocean on the far side of the world. It would be summer there, hot enough for sweat to gleam on people's skin as they ran into the surf and enjoyed being alive.
She lost herself in that thought.
Then, slowly and silently, she smiled.
There was nothing in front of her but a dark window.
She was smiling at the world she had imagined.
The girl tried to move. Her body felt as if it no longer belonged to her, unsteady and almost impossible to control. Weakness washed through her. She looked at the monitor beside the bed, remembering which numbers the nurse had said meant she was safe.
The numbers were right.
With considerable effort, she raised her right hand and pulled the IV needle and tubing from her left arm. Then she removed the electrodes from her chest and abdomen. Her fingers brushed skin made delicate by years of protection and pale from illness.
She gritted her teeth, braced herself against the rail, and forced her upper body upright.
As she shifted, the hair trapped behind her head and ears fell loose. She worked her way to the edge of the bed and lowered herself down. Her legs were so short that, sitting there, her feet could not reach the floor.
The instant her bare soles touched the ground, cold surged through her entire body.
The sharp sensation of the real world did not bother her.
It made her feel alive.
She pressed one small hand to her thin chest and began walking, one careful step at a time. Then she opened the door and left the dark hospital room behind.
She no longer clearly remembered where this hospital was located. Not the city, not even the street. A faint light shone along the corridor, but when she looked more closely, disappointment settled over her. It was only the hospital's nighttime lighting hidden behind the walls, not the moonlight she had hoped to find.
She wandered the corridor alone.
Doctors often passed through during the day, and someone was always on duty at night, but she did not run into the nurse.
That was just as well.
If anyone found her, they would ask what she was doing and why she had come out alone. Then they would lead her back, make her lie down, and reconnect every electrode and needle.
The silence of the empty corridor felt nothing like the oppressive loneliness of her room. There was something faintly free about it. For the little girl, this was a tiny adventure in the real world, and adventures in the real world were rare.
She wandered aimlessly through the quiet ward until she heard a faint sound.
Was it coming from the therapy room?
She did her scheduled exercises there during the day. The exertion exhausted her, but everyone said it was necessary for rehabilitation, a way to keep her body from rusting away completely. She still disliked the place.
Inside were a narrow lane between two parallel bars, a few small dumbbells, equipment for measuring height and weight, interlocking foam mats, and metal-framed windows that reached the floor. Beyond the glass, the same view always waited: a single tree that changed with the seasons.
That was all.
There were no balls, board games, televisions, or music boxes. There were not even any drinks, only a water dispenser that was refilled every three days.
Of course, it was not a school gym or a dance studio. There were no energetic classmates or talented teachers, only quiet doctors.
As for companions...
She had one.
The girl made her way over and peered through the half-open door.
Everything stood where it always did. Outside the windows, the solitary tree was silent beneath the night sky. Late winter had stripped away every leaf, leaving dry branches twisted into ugly claws.
Only one person was moving.
A slender boy was struggling between the parallel bars. His hands trembled around the rails as he forced himself forward. His steps wavered and stumbled. Without the support, he probably could not have walked at all.
It took him nearly a minute to manage four or five steps.
The girl watched without surprise.
He was the only other patient there.
He was older than her, but perhaps even weaker. At least she could move around by herself. He needed help with even the most basic activity, and lately his condition seemed to have worsened.
From the doorway, she silently watched him take four or five minutes to cross a distance of less than ten meters. By the time he reached the end, his ragged breathing was painful to hear. Sweat beaded on the backs of his hands, and his entire body shook beyond his control.
Then he turned around.
He meant to walk the same distance again.
Another ten meters.
Another four or five minutes, perhaps longer now that he was already exhausted.
Amyotrophic lateral sclerosis.
That was what he had, wasn't it?
Lost in thought, the girl forgot to hide.
When the boy turned, he saw her.
For a moment, the pale, delicate girl and the sweat-soaked boy who could barely walk simply looked at one another.
"Hello."
"Hello..."
They had passed each other earlier that day. Neither of them needed a longer greeting.
"You look like you're having a hard time, and there's no doctor with you."
The girl clasped her hands in front of her.
"You should go back and rest. If they catch you, you'll get scolded again."
"Soon, I won't even be able to work this hard," the boy replied.
Then he looked at her thin hospital gown, her bare arms and legs.
"What about you...?"
"I just needed to use the bathroom," she admitted after some hesitation.
The boy fell silent.
"What about the bathroom in your room?"
"It's broken. They said they'll fix it tomorrow."
"...How bad is it?"
The girl was not used to conversations like this. She was still young, but instinct alone was enough to make her lower her head in embarrassment and give a tiny nod.
"A little."
"Then I guess the bathroom in my room is your only option."
The boy sighed.
"Huh?"
She instinctively stepped back and watched him with wary eyes.
"Don't get the wrong idea..."
Her reaction left him looking awkward.
"The shared restroom is occupied by the nurse on duty. I think she has an upset stomach. I spoke to her before you arrived, and judging by how much she was sweating, she won't be finished anytime soon. That's also why she said she couldn't take me back to my room until she was done."
He drew a breath, then continued.
"You don't want anyone finding you out here and scolding you tomorrow. There's no need to make more trouble, so use mine."
"Oh..."
The explanation seemed to satisfy her.
"You remember which room is mine, right? The door isn't locked. Go ahead, then hurry back to your own room."
He smiled while still holding himself upright between the parallel bars.
"What about you?"
The girl tilted her head.
"I can't get back on my own. I have to wait for the nurse," he said quietly after a brief pause.
Simply standing consumed what little strength he had. Sitting down would have been far easier, yet he remained upright even as his legs visibly trembled. Both hands stayed locked around the rails, as though he were holding on to something more than metal.
He would probably wait there until the nurse returned, then make the slow, careful journey back to bed with her support.
"Let's go together."
The thought had barely formed before the girl spoke.
By the time the words left her mouth, she had already stepped into the therapy room.
...