Merci.

In this world I have the power to change locations at will. Teleporting back and forth to deciduous treed environments and having one-sided conversations; they are so rapid I can barely process what is said or seen. Responding is out of the question. In fact it doesn't follow our known laws of nature; I'm only here to listen. The faces begin to fade and shift into the backs of heads, slowly moving out of my vision and disappearing through an invisible portal. One by one, each contact makes its departure as I am disturbed from my slumber. I notice where I am, each ankle and wrist fastened to the table with Velcro. A slight pain begins in my left forearm begging me to rip free from my constraints. I choke out a few voluntary and involuntary curses, to let someone know I'm feeling pain. “Don’t move, only two more minutes.” I couldn't tell if the doctor noticed he was resting his elbow just above the boa constrictor wrapped around my bicep to let them know that: yes, somehow the blood is still flowing through that arm. What it failed to tell them was nothing a few one syllable words couldn't convey mixed with a bit of wriggling about. Still blindfolded so not to freak out from all the blood pouring out my ear, I felt a familiar touch at my hand; a few fingers followed with a loving grasp. My heart rate stopped if not only for a moment, and slowed to a comfortable rate. I hear the doctor’s words once more along with a set of hands massaging the blood through my arm. I push through the next half an hour with the caring hand ready to comfort me throughout the rest of the procedure, triggered by my lovely one syllable sounds or by the doctor’s word that this time it really will only be another two minutes. Was it really you, did you convince them to let you put on scrubs and make sure I was okay?