The stark white ceiling, the pungent smell of disinfectant—it hit him with grim amusement that he was in a hospital.
His body felt heavy and exhausted. His limbs lay on the bed, utterly immobile. Straining, he turned his head, his voice hoarse as he said, "Stop crying, you're giving me a headache."
The voice that he mustered with all his strength was barely a whisper.
Mrs. Johnson sensed movement and lifted her head. Seeing Samuel Johnson had opened his eyes, she exclaimed with joy, "Samuel! You're awake?"
Samuel's brow furrowed slightly. He lay in bed, slowly asking, "Water."
His voice was as faint as a mosquito's hum, but Mrs. Johnson, reading his lips, hurried to stand and fetch him water.
After she helped him drink, she asked cautiously, "Samuel, do you feel any better now?"
Propped up in bed, Samuel's gaze drifted to the window. The sky was dark. He asked, "Have I been asleep for a whole day?"
