Naledi

I woke in a hospital bed, the sterile scent of antiseptic sharp in my nostrils. Yesterday’s events flooded back in a dizzying rush. A man in a white coat stood nearby, smiling faintly. "I’m glad you’re awake."

"Who are you?" I asked, my voice raspy.

"Dr. Skumbuzo Mxenge." He handed me a cup of water, his movements efficient. "How are you feeling?"

"Alive, barely. Shouldn’t you have my file already?"