The windows glow. This is what brings me round, that orange hum under my eyelids. There's nothing to see out of their tall frames but a soft bloom of light. I'm the only one here. At least, all the other beds are empty. Each row continues into the horizon point of my perspective and beyond. There's a clean, musky scent on the slightly warm air. The firm pressure along my body tells me I'm tucked in so neatly that I can't move.

The nurse gently trots along to me. She looks like Louise Fletcher in her most famous role. Doesn't everyone's archetypal nurse? Post-1975, anyway.

"Why am I here?" My voice comes out smooth but high.

"You need a long stretch of complete bed rest," she clips in her Mid-Atlantic tones, "You've been pushing far too hard. You've made yourself quite poorly. No better place for you."

She arches her eyebrows, admonishing me like a pantomime villain. She's a professional, she's seen this hundreds, thousands of times. I'm not special but there's no one around apart from us.

"I have to tell everyone where I am," I try to sit up but the covers stop me from struggling.

"They already know." She doesn't look up from writing on her clipboard. "Actually, they were the ones that made the decision. You really worried them."

"Is she..." I falter. "Is she here?"

The nurse fixes her face somewhere between pity and compassion.

"This is a fantasy, not a miracle."

Then she hands me the rattling paper cup and it ends.