"How are you feeling, son?" the doctor asked him, hovering above his bed. Damon frowned at the bright, crisp-white light that overwhelmed his eyes and gulped. His throat was dry and it hurt; it was as if screams had got caught up in there.
He shifted slowly in the roughly-washed sheets covering the bed he was lying on as he tried to get up. With his head throbbing from a headache, he felt somehow queasy and too afraid to move.
"Don't strain yourself." the blue-eyed man said, touching Damon's shoulder and pushing him into the pillow. His hand was warm, as if trying to relieve the pain, to show compassion. So simple a gesture was it, that Damon could not help the unsettling feeling that was beginning to gnaw at his insides, intensifying as the doctor sent him a forced smile and checked his vital signs once again, nodding to himself and scribbling a few words on a piece of paper. But there was something in his eyes... something deep and sincere, something he could not yet distinguish.
"What's going on? Where am I?"
A nurse that seemed to have appeared out of nowhere whispered a few words to the man, making him shake his head and mumble something back. They were obviously talking about him but Damon could not hear them, he couldn't understand what they were saying and his sight began to blur more and more until he was finally forced to succumb to the unknown.
Hey, guys! If you like this story, please go check out my other work too, Cold Fingers (on my profile page). It would mean so much to me, thanks! ;)