When she's sick I am allowed to play and make noise, I like elephants, balloons and butter pecan ice cream. I like it here, and she doesn't, I like riding in a wheelchair, it's fun, everyone is so nice, even though the medicine makes me sleepy, and our room is a cold, white room and a light in the hall is always on, but I can watch TV and play games, she won't let me use her phone, but I look at it when she's asleep, she takes pictures of the same pretty clouds and the dog, the dog is mean, I don't like him. A nurse lady was asking me questions, and she didn't wake up, I just want to curl up into the covers and pretend I am a snail, the machines in here beep and have neat glowing lights, I know not to touch them, and that she'll wake up soon, and I'll go back to sleep, my dreams are happy and hers isn't, she will feel better soon, and I will sit at the edge of the bed with the others, my hair is singed and covered in black soot because I was burned long ago, she says I am made of ash and cinder and that I'm not real, I can't speak when she does, but I am real, every time she sleeps I am allowed to play and pretend that I am invisible, I can also pretend that I am a cat, I pretend that I have a whole jungle of elephants and I can feed them, and that we are friends.