Hospital Beds

The absolute first thing that I realized was that my hair was gone. I myself can admit that I never kept it as beautiful or as stylish as I could have, in fact, I had tons of split ends and I always had my hair in a bun. But my hair was nonetheless mine but after waking up to run my palm against the smooth skin of my scalp, I would have cried if I had not found myself in such a peculiar situation. I realized after rubbing my head that my wedding ring had been taken off of my finger. Furthermore, my other jewelry was missing: my bracelets, my earrings, my necklace with 'Melissa' engraved into it given to me by my mother. This, like my hair, was also finally eclipsed by the last peculiar fact of the situation: my body ached and without any explanation, I was in a hospital.

The hospital also seemed odd to me. Its facade seemed dingy, unlike the ones I'd been used to. That's when I realized shamefully that I couldn't distinguish whether or not this was a regular hospital that regular people went to. I was so used to top notch service, brightly lit rooms and a large HDTV or at least something orchestral playing on the radio to soothe the soul. What I woke to was dim lighting, a small TV on the wall and an eerie empty hallway.

Not a second later, a doctor and his assistant appeared. Judging from their garb, I could immediately recognize regardless of social status that they were not doctors. They wore the masks pre-surgery, didn't have name tags and wore tattered uniforms. Nonetheless, I figured they had more information on my position than I did, so I began my questioning. They quickly realized their errors and lowered their masks from their faces to greet me.
"Hello Mrs. Parrish."
“Hello gentlemen. It seems that I have suffered some memory loss. Can you tell me why I'm here?"
They looked at each other waiting for one another to step up and provide an excuse.
“You were in a car accident.”
“Oh, dear.” I tried very hard to contain my smile. I couldn’t tell if I was about to do it out of fear or pity. “Well could you explain what happened to my hair?”
“Yes.” The other answered surprisingly fast. “It caught on fire in the accident; we had to shave it off.”
I had felt my scalp already. The headache was internal. I had no burns, 1st 2nd or 3rd degree.
“Well what do we do now?”
Sweat began to form at the one’s brow. Another bit the inside of his cheek.
“We have to perform surgery.”
“Do you have the instruments in order to do so?”
“Of course.” There was a silence between me and them. For completely different reasons, though. They themselves were idiots- they didn’t know what they were supposed to do. I was so hushed because although I knew they weren’t doctors, I wasn’t so sure that they didn’t have surgical tools.
“Ma’am, we have everything you need,” He tried to reassure me. “Syringes, bandages, scalp holes.”
Did he just call a scalpel a scalp hole?
Yes he did.
They’re going to kill me.
They’re really going to kill me.
The other one smiled, yellow, crooked teeth, as if he knew that I knew what was going on.
I have to get out of here.
They seemed to be edging closer and closer to me. When I rose up, one of them revealed that he had said scalpel in hand.
I’d have to fight my way out.

Another prompt from that sci-fi site made by that Mush Face character