It’s been weeks…and weeks…and weeks…and weeks. Make it stop.
The droll of vacation bragging by Vanessa and Winston, who seem to have engaged in mid-life changes-beard dyed, hair dyed, body reshaped or sculpted…or engorged.
A revolving door of roommates.
A revolving door of orderlies, nurses, doctors, and sponsors. One was bald and tall. His smile was too bright and his charisma never waned. It didn’t surprise me after rumors circled that he was embezzling funds with Vanessa and Winston or that he had put his hands down too many pants on the second floor. I wasn’t that lucky. If I had, my husband would have reaped the benefits of my dispositions.
I miss him.
And then the winter came and so did the reshaping of the hospital…or rather the engorgement of it. Another two sections were built, Black West and Black North. Both misshapen to Black Hall’s aesthetic, which isn’t saying much. More patients came and went, some went elsewhere but not anywhere. Their bodies hiding in the sinews of the architecture. Their screams silenced by the mortar of their assailants. Their flickered hope dying as much as they are. But it’s quieter without so many at Black Hall.
It helps me think.
Tomorrow I see my therapist. We’ve made progress. He can tell when I’m lying now.
I miss my husband.
– M.R. –
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