That was the first sound that Denise heard as she slowly gained consciousness. The bright white lights infiltrated her eyes, forcing her to squint, trying to block out all light. The beeping continued, keeping time with her heart.
She was alive.
That’s what she reminded herself as she ever so slowly came back to consciousness, as she slowly realized that she was in a hospital, tied up to God knows how many machines. Her eyes opened, and she could see, if only blurry at first, that she was in a hospital bed. She’d been here once, years ago when she’d had her tonsils removed, and recognized it as UC Irvine Medical Center. Out the window, the sky was clear, and the tall palms swayed in the winds and the traffic from the 5 nearby.
There was knock on the door, and as is usual of hospitals, they didn’t wait for a response before walking in. A nurse dressed in blues holding a chart stepped in, looked at her, and mumbled something about her being awake now, and then checked the monitor.
“How are you feeling?”
“Good. I’m sorry, but what happened?”
The nurse looked at Denise with no expression on her thin face. “You were in an accident. There’s a state psychologist outside waiting to talk to you. Can I send him in?”
Denise’s last memory before waking up was fuzzy. Had she even been driving? She could recall almost nothing, just the pain of stiffness in her joints.
How long had she been unconscious?
(Author's Note: I wrote this portion for a Noir piece in class, but I actually intend to use in it another piece I'm writing in which a person can delete memories of a person.)