I lie there. The pain. It's exquisite. Like nothing I've ever experienced. I continually await for someone, anyone, to come. Feel this pain. See this feeling. Know it. There is nothing like it. All hums and whirrs and ecclectic beeps. Head pounding with a feeling of undone. I awaken. I rest. I feel the life threads outside of my body. Hear the faint clicks, spins, hums. An entire symphony lulling a beast to inebriation. I harbor the beast. I am the beast. Oh, but this pain is exquisite. This pain

There are soft-soled foot steps just beyond the curtain. Whispers of starched white cotton. I try at words. The beast has my throat. It's overwhelming, this magical sensation. This pain. I wait among the starched spirits cradling me. Everything impersonal. Who else knows of this anomaly? This pain.

Waiting waiting, the life threads twitching with my slightest movement, movements that don't exist. I'm stiff, I'm numb, completely held captive to this thing I am protecting. This pain. Whispers of starched cotton. And then she appears.

No words from her sculpted mouth. Her beauty is beyond measure, beyond words. Her arms open wide, cradle my misery. The terrible wonder that is this pain is enraged. Her soft bosom holds me to her, her sweet scent wafting from her white collar.

She is my savior.

She pulls the plug.