With All My Senses

those wounded and fighting

It is always the way of events in this life...

no sooner have you got settled in a pleasant resting place,

than a voice calls out to you to rise and move on,

for the hour of repose is expired

Charlotte Brontë, Jane Eyre

The grey, filtered light moving through the thick clouds calms me somehow, bringing a refreshing numbness. As the hospital machines hum in the background, a little rustling of paper adding to the mundane sounds even more. All peaceful beyond a slightly different kind of energy growing in the room. Certain vibes that I have been lightly ignoring for the last hour or so.

I'm doing it wrong, and I have followed every instruction on this dense page of yours.

She says, frustrated, probably not used to failing at anything. I, on the other hand, had no trouble with such feelings. I look up from the book that was just laying in my lap as I lazily flicked through its pages, my mind elsewhere, preoccupied with the things that were coming my way. Now, I wasn't fazed much by her mood but still pretended to give her an all-knowing smirk.

A beginner's privilege, but you will get a handle of it. Trust me. Besides, I didn't choose that page. Just stated it looked decent enough, there's a difference.

A low mutter reaches my ears, and I try not to snicker.

For now, I just wasted a lot of Mickey's supplies.

My gaze shifts to her bed and the small stacks of crumpled paper. All sorts of rainbow shades littering the covers that she's sitting on, cross-legged, and with an almost permanent scowl clouding her features.

I'm sure he can use it again in one way or another. He's eight, imagination still takes him everywhere that cash can't. I envy that.

Her breathing quickens a bit as she starts to huff, fingers struggling to get the right shape she wanted.

I told you to start with something easier than a crane... or a damn swan.

She huffs even louder.

Your suggestion was two folded triangles put together and calling it a fish.

My shoulders shrug.

And how did that work out?

She sighs and speaks reluctantly, not looking in my direction, her back slouched.

I threw it at you and made your eye tear up for a few minutes.

Exactly, and now you're on your own.

I smile and look for a fragment of the book that would catch my interest, but then hear something rather unexpected.

Please, Eleonore.

My eyebrows lift, but I don't say anything, instead take her crumpled paper, tear it carefully in half, and smooth it out gently. Showing her how to create something new from it. Finally, I hand it to her, and she smiles slowly.

That is so not a bird.

No, those are for pros. You will start with this.

Her eyes gaze at a fragile, red paper butterfly spread out in the palm of her hand, air from the vent system slightly shifting its wings, making it seem nearly alive.