The dimly lit room

A lesson during a recent writing course had us return to stories or ideas and rewrite them, a memory from long ago

The dimly lit room

The squalid hallway assaulted my senses with dread and disinfectant as they led us to his room. The outdated space with its cold tile floors and blue ticked curtains shifts my gaze from familiar to foreign while this somber scene unravels before us. 

The cramped space was cluttered with a persistent parade of white coats swarming with questions. His body busy with threads of wire that led to their partnered device, spewing noises and numbers and revealing more questions than answers. Betrayed by his inability to speak our child lay powerless while the doctors pushed for answers beneath the steady whirl that conserved his life.

Eagerly my eyes danced about the space. Focusing on the blinking lights with their steady cadence echoing the rhythm of his heart. Each doctor with their overwhelming persistence uncovered more concern as the prickles of fear advanced.

Guilt stirs revealing my naivete when I notice the burst of crimson across the room. Recalling when I ran back inside to collect his jacket, now perched perfectly over the empty chair. Denial stings and I question all the days now highlighted in this dimly lit room.  

Silence erodes the space as the machines no longer hum. Gently they place him in my arms as shock sweeps in to conceal our grief and the door slides closed.