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third person
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Elena pushed through the glass door, making her daily rounds that day. Outside, it snowed. Still, the hospital rooms sang with heavy air-conditioning, which according to Elena kept off the medicinal aroma. She despised it. It made her feel old.
Most other doctors—doctors at the city hospital
—thought themselves of as god. Elena was Christian; it was wrong to replace gods, mere mortals mustn't get ahead of themselves, and while Elena would dish out a small, dimple giving smile whenever her colleagues would mention anything related, she'd also die a little inside.
Because of her.
Rieka Maddox.
Long and tick eye lashes curved downwards, listlessly unaware of the droplets of saline it required to run her body—you see, she couldn't eat.
Not while she was in coma.
Stoically, nurses would keep an eye on her.
They didn't have other choice as money fuels any important business as well as their salaries. Rightly said : love does much, money does everything.
Elena strides towards the dull, maroon drapes. The window, out of which, Elena often overlooks everyone. There's quite a commotion in hallways to get through —families couldn't tear themselves off now that the person is bed ridden, connected with machines, saline-dependent, helpless.
Indeed were the nursing staff god.
Elena blinks.
She's to remind herself to breathe—for the patient's face was absolute still. No lines. Cold, cold skin. A white robe reflecting whiteness of the artificial lights, tiny bulbs glowing inside walls. Pale.
Elena wonders, momentarily, if she's already out.
The next minute, shudders run through her.
What a horrible thing to imagine!
Elena's hand clutches the door handle, she's about to leave but doesn't. She halts thinking how much time has passed since the last time Rieka Maddox had a visit.
Four months.
Four months and seventy seven hours.
Why can't her family just take her?
She's in coma—what she wouldn't guess can't possibly kill her, yes?
When she first came—was admitted —signs of serious damage to the brain were evident. A severe image of her struggling to stay afloat—conscious—crosses the doctor's mind. The accident had done some serious damage to the legs as well, from the thigh socket to the knee, white plasters following. And yet, no movement, the puppetry was useless.
Elena struggles.
So carefully she's twisting — it's a comical scene. For who would she possibly wake up?
The half dead?
Then something magical happens.
Almost fairy tale like.
A stolen, last glimpse of the patient has Elena jumping with joy. Internally, but of course. She smiled, goosebumps erupting on her skin underneath despite the lab coat she's on, it isn't the air-conditioning-
It's her!
It's her patient!
Her hands are grazing upon the oxygen mask—droopy-eyed—groan eventually is elicited by how tight in reality it is, wires attached to her frame.
"Hello Rieka," Dr Elena is still beaming. Hopeful, proud.
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w : 486
YOU ARE READING
A SYRUP OF GALAXIES
ChickLit- do you remember how i used to love you? - err no - good. because i never did.
