Creative Writing Assignments

Painful Past, Promising Future

"How are you feeling today, Danny?" The door to the white room opened carefully. A young woman, about 21, peeked inside with a friendly smile on her face. She was wearing pink scrubs with daisies on them. The scrubs contributed to her kind oura.
"Same as usual Abigail." Her smile held, even though the answer wasn't the one she wanted to hear. She tucked the bits of strawberry blond curls that were in her face behind her ear. "Well, maybe you'll feel better tomorrow!" Her smile was genuine and her eyes were brightened by the thought.
Abigail has been my attending nurse since I was admitted. She always has an encouraging smile on her face. It's easy to see why she went into health care. She is on call twenty-four seven and she comes to visit each of her patients every morning and every night. She tends to visit me a little more than her other patients though. I'm not saying I don't enjoy the visits, but I don't exactly know why either.
"Are you ready to take your pills?" I nodded. She smiled again. It seems she never stops. That must be why she has the most patient requests. Everyone wants Abigail to be their nurse. She is kind and compassionate, she's never met someone she hasn't loved. Basically the complete opposite of me. "Here you go." She handed me a tiny cup with the two familiar pills inside. Same as everyday.
"Thanks, Abigail." She continued to smile at me, clearly trying to make me imitate her behavior. "Oh Danny, how many times have I told you to call me Abby?" A million times. She's asked a million times. I don't get the point of nicknames. You were given a name. Why go by something else?
"Ok, you're all set!" Her smile met my eyes again. She had been checking my vitals. I guess they are normal. "Don't forget, if you need anything just push the button!" She headed towards the door to my white institutional room.  I nodded. "See you tonight, Danny!" Abigail and her smile disappeared out the door.
When she's not there, I don't talk at all. I've been called shy, but that's not really the reason I don't talk. I've always been able to maintain friendships. I've even been in some serious relationships, but the desire to have those relationships has disappeared over time. I simply don't want to be close to anyone. The risk isn't worth the reward.

...
"Danny!" I looked up from the book I had been reading. Abigail was standing at the door to my white room, holding a tray of food. Mashed potatoes, beans, and chicken. Like usual.
"Time for dinner!" Her smile once again filled the room with new shine. The room seemed even brighter when she was around. She just has that effect.  She set the tray of food down on my side table, in front of all the sympathy cards from former friends I never read.
"How was your day?" She looked expectant, as if she thought I was gonna say something different than I always did. "Same as usual Abigail." Even though she was clearly disappointed, her smile never faltered. She is always there to give me a smile. I may not say it, ever, but I really enjoy her company.

...

Abigail hasn't come yet. It's 7am. She's never late. She always comes at exactly 6:45 to give me my antidepressants and anxiety medication. Same time everyday. She says it's to keep me on a strict routine. I guess the routine is supposed to provide a consistent stability in my life. She would never risk jeopardizing that. So, where was she?
The door to my white room was suddenly slammed open. Flinch. My focus swift immediately. What was that?!
A woman. She looked to be about 40, entered the room with a scowl. She had excessive acne and looked angry about something. "Are you Daniel Miller?!" Her voice was rough and coarse. Somehow I knew that she wouldn't maintain the same silent  communication Abigail does. "Y-yes." Her face held the scowling expression she came in wearing. She reached into her scrubs pocket. Her scrubs were black with faint white stripes. Very different from Abigail's bright colors and cute patterns. She held out her hand, which contained my Zoloft and Fluoxetine pills. My eyes wandered to her hand and stayed there, staring.
"Well?!" Flinch. "Are you gonna take them or not?!" Hesitantly, I reached for her hand and took the pills from it. I held them in my hands and looked at the women. "Um..." She snapped her head towards me. She looked impatient, as well as expectant.
"Where's Abigail?" She turned her back to me and huffed. "She's not here today! Don't be such an ungrateful brat!" Flinch. Her voice was thunderous and filled the room with a dangerous aura. She rushed out of the room and slammed the door behind her. Flinch. My eyes squeezed shut on instinct.
Ungrateful brat...
Ungrateful brat...
Ungrateful brat...
...

"Ugh!" Flinch. My hand met my eye. It was throbbing as a result of the hit it just endured.
"Ungrateful brat!" Flinch. My eyes shot open. A hand made contact with my cheek. Flinch. My hand moved from my throbbing eye to my scratched up cheek that stung with pain. My head stayed down, almost as if to protect itself from the onslaught.
"Look at me when I'm talking to you brat!" Flinch. Another hit. Same cheek. I shakily moved my hand away from my cheek. Dark red liquid painted my fingers and palm. Blood.
"I said look at me, you brat!" Flinch. Another hit. Head this time. My eyes shifted up. They were met with an all too familiar sight. A woman with short brown hair and unfriendly icy blue eyes. A very breakable glass bottle of beer in her right hand. Sharp pedicured nails on each hand.
"Finally." Hit. "Now go do the dishes, and don't even think about eating any of the scraps!"

...

"Good for nothing brat!" Hit. Flinch. "Why were you even born?!" Hit. Flinch. "I should have aborted you when I had the chance!" Flinch. "Maybe then, your deadbeat father wouldn't have left me!" Hit. Flinch. Blood dripped from my cheeks. "It's all your fault."
My eyelids felt moist. It's not. It's not. It's not...
"Why are you even still alive?!" Flinch. "You should just kill yourself already!" Hit. Flinch.
It is my fault.
...

The rope that hung from my bedroom ceiling fan looked inviting. It was as if it was telling me to come closer. To be free. To give in. I stepped on my bed and stepped toward the edge with the rope around my neck.
"I love you, Daniel."
Grandma.
I can't do it.
...

Mom's at work. Grandma's dying.
The sink is running. My reflection is looking back at me. The knife is set on the sink counter. I reach for it. Bring it to my wrist. One cut. Two cuts. Three cuts.
"I love you forever, Daniel."
Grandma.
I can't do it.
...

Mom's at work. Grandma's dead. Her funeral is a week past.
The child protective cap of her heart medicine lies deserted on the kitchen counter. The entire bottle of tiny red pills is in my hand. I bring the bottle to my mouth. One pill falls in.
"Never give up, Daniel."
I can't do it.
...

I can't do it.
...

I can't do it.
...

"Danny!"
Huh?
"Danny?!"
"Daniel, wake up!"
"Please, wake up!"
"Daniel!"
...

Bright lights overtook my vision. Where am I?
A shape is covering the light.
The shape of a human.
A familiar face. A friendly one.

"Abby...?"