Sophie Sana

Pain. Blinding, searing pain. A cold bathroom floor. A catheter stabbing through my purple wounds. I lie on the ground, begging any god that can listen for an end to this suffering. For death and emptiness. Nothing happens. I recoil in agony. When you are in enough pain, you forget language. But you somehow still remember the word, “Ma.” Mother. So I scream, “Ma!” My mother rushes to my bathroom and calls an ambulance. Nurses arrive, injecting me with morphine.