The Forgotten

A bit of flash fiction to enjoy with your Saturday. This was written a while ago as part of a speed-writing challenge and when I was still working for a hospital, which obviously influenced the content. I saw the hard work of the nursing staff and how often their contributions went unnoticed by others and frankly, hospitals after hours are CREEPY, very quiet despite all the people bustling around. Not going to lie, it’s not my usual style but I always aim to challenge myself in my writing so hope you like it.

The Forgotten

We are the forgotten. We drift these halls unseen, day and night. We hear them calling, crying out, begging for mercy. But we are powerless to end their suffering. How we wish we could take their pain from them, pull it into ourselves and save them from their fate but that is not within our power and so we continue our eternal vigil. 
One of them is weeping in the corner. We glide by, but know that even our gentlest touch will be of no help: where they are they cannot be comforted by us. Another is crying out for water. We move, but there is somebody already there, helping them drink. 
Many people complain of the smell but we have been here so long we do not even notice it: the mix of blood, urine, chemicals and drugs can burn the noses of even the most devout veteran but for us it is nothing. It clings to us, penetrates us, is one with us. 
Another whimper from one of the beds. We do not move, waiting to see if it grows into a full cry or dies out to a whisper. A hush. This is often far worse than a louder noise and can only foreshadow a bleak end. We move closer, offering soothing noises which mean nothing. Wide eyes greet us, a tremor of the lip and a small mew. They see us but do not recognise us, or fully register we are here. So often we are ignored but we are the ones there at the beginning and the end. Looking down we know it is nearly their time. We smile kindly until the last of the tremors have passed, and their eyes close. They are at peace. 
A clatter and padding of unclothed feet tells us we are needed. With one final look we turn and drift away.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s