Birds without wings
The fan hummed a constant stream of air against the white wall.
There it was again, that unsettling feeling of strangeness. The sensation of floating in the ether, of observing the body once occupied, filled with a sense of urgency that things were askew, that she was out of place.
She looked down at the mound moving beneath the sheet. The green and blue bamboo leaves rose with every breath, floating briefly before sinking to rest on the soft roundness of her belly.
She averted her gaze and picked up a book from the pile next to the bed. Birds without wings. How fitting, she thought.