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A Short Story : A Story?

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She woke to find herself in a hospital room.
This isn’t realistic. I must be dreaming; I mean, I was in my room writing down my cousins’ birthdays, she thought.
She tries to grasp the memory, but it floated out of her reach. She sat up and looked around. The door opened and she looked at the man who entered.
“Hello, how are you feeling today?” he asked. She glared at him skeptically.
“How did I get here?”
“You had an accident. I’d rather spare you the details.”
“I want to hear them; I don’t care how gory they are. I want them. And how did I have an accident? Last I remember, I was…” She paused, she couldn’t remember the last detail clearly.
“You must’ve hit your head hard during the accident. I’ll be sure to notify the head doctor.” She started to put her head in her hands but stopped when she noticed a number on her arm. She licked her finger and rubbed at it. It didn’t go away or smear at all; it was a tattoo. She looked up when the doctor started to talk again.
“So I’ll ask you again, how are you feeling. How about on a scale of one to ten - ten being the most amount of pain - how much pain are you feeling?” She glanced at the tattoo again.
“What does 404 mean? It wasn’t there before.”
“It’s you.”
“Me?”
“Yes. You’re Patient 404.”
“Why not just call me by my name, and why tattoo it on my arm? What’s wrong around here?”
“That is your name. Your name is Patient 404.”
“What are you talking about? My name is…”
“But you can’t remember.” He smiled. “Have a nice day, Patient

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