TV Appeal

I lie in the bed. The sheets are clean, but feel too thin. It is cold here, but somehow I barely notice. I feel peaceful... relaxed... distant, as thought this is all a memory that I'm slipping in and out of.

Around the bed are machines. I'm not sure why they are there or what they are for. There are buttons and dials and wires and tubes; some of the tubes seem to be connected to me. There are display screens with little dots and bright wiggles. I seem to hear the faint noise of beeps.

Standing above me are two people, close to the bed, holding one another. There are tears in their eyes. I know I recognise them, but somehow I can't quite remember exactly who they are.

I feel a warm rush of love for these people. Why do they look so sad? Don't worry; there's no need to cry, no need to be afraid. I want to reassure them, but I no longer seem able to move my lips, or lift my head. Better to lie here and be still. I'm aware that I'm breathing slowly... so slowly. The scene fades away.