The smell of a hospital.
Many would describe as a nauseating smell. Maybe the smell of something sickeningly sweet.
Eerie or unsettling, commonly triggering the thought of a loss of a loved one or a sick or injured patient.
Or perhaps the smell of medicine, the leaking of antiseptic.
There is no correct answer. Smell can only be described through the comparison of another.
Footsteps echo through the hallway, the carpet beneath me is a navy blue with a stripe of green beaming through the centre.
I never intended on coming here often. I was never planning to.
I've always believed smells connect to feelings. All senses correlate into one to create a mood and atmosphere.
To me, a hospital smells alluring. Like a sensation of being pulled in, surrounded by others that face the same fate.
No one wants to be here
Room 31-B
The door creaks open, leading to a blank white room holding a table and two chairs which create an emphasis on the white and blue bed centred.
Down the end of a tube a boy lays limply. His pale skin complementing his fading red hair.
With each step I take in the room a nostalgic and empty feeling pings through me.
I stand by his side. The thought of dis-attachment feels like a punch in the stomach.
Tears form in my eyes at the sight of his black roots, strongly contrasting against what he has left of his dyed red hair. Almost perfectly simplifying his condition.
Only just hanging on.
I sit down at the table, starring out the window above, getting lost in my mind.
The clouds contrast against the bright blue sky.
He's always loved the clouds.
The patterns and splotches of white and grey look painted. When I was younger my dad would tell me every night while were sleeping those who we've lost are up there painting the clouds. Visiting us and leaving symbols of their existence in the sky.
Maybe he'll paint the clouds for me.
My gaze shifts back to the sickened boy. I remember always persisting him to wear his hair down and to not spike it up. But he would always insist, banging on about his idol, Crimson Riot.
His hair lays down, spread onto the pillow he rests on and sitting just above his shoulders.
The door creaks open and I immediately snap my head in the direction of noise.
"...hey," the yellow head mumbles.
Usually he's full of energy, bursting into the room with excitement. I can make out slight eye-bags under his yellow and lidded eyes.
"Hey..." I mumble back as he drags himself over and accompanies me at the table, sitting on the chair opposite mine.
The silence is almost deafening.
"I didn't know you would be here," he states, snapping me out of my trance.
"Likewise," I reply. A black stroke symbolising a lightning bolt captures my attention in his hair. Although we've been in the same class for almost a year now, as well as the fact that I guess you could say we're 'close friends' I've never really accompanied myself with anyone else.
Anyone but the red haired male laying helplessly in the bed beside us.
"So...how are you?" He asks, clearly trying to keep up a conversation, distracting me from my doubts.
I pause, taking a second to find a suitable answer.
"I don't know," I answer, avoiding the pity full look always placed in peoples eyes after receiving a negative answer to that question.
"We haven't heard much from you lately..." he blurts out.
"...yeah," I start, "I know."
____________________________
Hope you enjoyed <3
Word Count: 612
.
YOU ARE READING
Broken | Kiribaku | Angst
Fanfiction"There is no pain so great as the memory of joy in the present grief." Bakugou struggles to overcome the tragedy of losing the one person he loves the most. Will Kirishima be ok? Or will it be too late for the both of them. Started: 15/4/22 Ended:...
