Her Hero Zero

There are thee hundred forty one and a half ceiling tiles in her memory. There are stripes painted on the wall, twenty nine striped green and the same number of blue. There are three holes in one of the five blankets that lay over her freezing body. She had succeeded in freezing herself to death for thirty seven minutes. Ninety one beeps one the monitor per minute and her body temperature reads ninety three degrees.

She opens her mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. [Zero. At least it is an even number, unlike the rest.] Three hospital employees walk in [odd] to join her two sleeping family members [still odd] to ask her, “How are you feeling today,” [which is still an odd number or words no matter how many times they ask it.] Her mother awakens [one, is odd]. She opens her mouth to speak and no words come out. [Zero. At least it is an even number, unlike the rest.] The one doctor [odd] checks her levels, while the two nurses [even, until her mother steps in] make sure she is comfortable. One nurse [odd] touches her head sending three jolts of pain [odd] through her body.

The memory always ends at the remembrance of the pain; probably because she had blacked out [once]. She wishes again [1,375] that she could forget this memory. She looks around her room at her [one] window, [one] dresser, [one] chair, [one] bed, [three] blankets, [one] pillow, [one] door, [one] mirror, and [one] reflection of herself—she opens her mouth to scream, and nothing comes out. [Zero. At least it is an even number, unlike the rest.] So she grabs her [one] red lipstick and traces [one] red like on the mirror over the [one] red scar that [one] of her own hands inflicted on her [one] neck; cutting through the vocal chords thus leaving her with zero. But at least it is an even number, unlike the rest.