The glow of the white ceiling light no longer swayed blurrily but fixed itself on his retinas with agonizing sharpness, while the supply of air from the oxygen tank flowed slowly without the force of a machine, bringing Mark's consciousness back to the cold reality of the silent bed.
Every time his chest rose to draw in air, a sharp pain like the thrust of a red-hot nail struck the spaces between his ribs, spreading throughout his joints, which felt stiff and shattered like scrap metal forced back into shape.
The constant hum of the ventilator crept back into his ears, forcing Mark to blink slowly under the harsh glow of the light, as he tried to muster the strength to move his index finger even though all his fingers felt stiff and cold.
The sharp, pungent smell of medicine stung the back of his nose, instantly clearing the last traces of fog from his mind and forcing him to accept the reality that he was still confined to this cold hospital room.
