Sons of Evil

Paradise of hope

Knocks on the door, my mother and i rushed to check who it was; i guessed my friend Alan, while my mother thought it could be our weekly maid. I opened the door, while my mom was near me standing hidden from the house’s gate. Our both guesses turned out to be wrong.

_ “ Mrs Kush?” I questionned then unlocked the door.

I left the door open for my mother then walked few steps away so as to leave them talk comfortable in private. I noticed my mother jumped heavily on the conversation and her facial appearances marked a shocking reaction to what the woman was telling.

The two women agreed on a specific time that afternoon, then we head straight to the hospital. As I understood from my mother, our part-time handmaid was in a terrible situation in a hospital. I could neither know the how or the why until i got in myself to find out.

The public hospital was crowded that no air could go through these men and women. People puzzled everywhere like dominos, standing, sitting on the floor, waiting for their tragic news in diagnosis room. The chairs could barely be seen, whether beside the rooms’ doors or in the registration line; only when people were leaving at the end of the day. Some could be their last, others a more survival night they had to fight.

Nurses and interns were moving all sides, while doctors not yet in sight seeming to be busy working. We asked for emergengy hallway and had one of the workers leading the way.

“Room of observation” was written at the top of the door. My eyes got frozen of the tragic view that was inside the place. I began to realize that these people were put in a chamber giving a look of a war survivals. Bed next to another, separated only by a feet or two. For me each bed situation imitated for me the trick of death. Described in the following order:

-Bed n°1: an old man relaxed in his place, having a nurse checking on his medical materials, his eyes closed firmly, nobody could tell whether he was dead yet, or alive.

-Bed n°3: the same age as the first patient, but this one had a wife or i might say a daughter that could feel his movements he would make in bed, and she was begging for continuous update concerning her relative’s conditions.

-Bed n°4: it was empty, but still, taken by an mentally ill-diagnosed old man; proving to all his sick fellows that they were suffering imaginary pain, while he himself had stars moving like an atomic formula around his brain cells. Laughing, moving freely, looking at everyone, but could not care less.

It seemed to me that one could die with no witness, with a warm presence of his family comfort, or fall into one’s own madness.