Hospice

Bedside Manner

I wish that I had known from that 1st minute we meet the un payable debt that I'd owe you. Because you'd been abused by the bone that refused you and you hired me to make up for that.
-Kettering by the Antlers

He thought it was an exaggeration that they were more body bags than bodies. People wanting to die in peace seemed to be a constant business.

Their names spread like a wild fire in an oil field, hushed whispered of the infamous Thunderclap and Jan? Jennifer? Probably some poor nurse. He couldn't make out the name though all the pitted looks he was getting and the instant shushes that were made when he was around.

He's looking at his feet , John has a nasty habit of looking at his feet,although he trips over them when he's looking up to find his name on the the room assignments. Searching and scanning till he finds his name paired up with room 116 fourth floor.

They should have called him Earthquake Thunderclap by his screams.
Even from down the hall he could hear chaos orchestra of sing morphine alarms, crashing glass and thrown chairs.
The possibility of see him again 0 to 1 but the Angels should've prayed harder so he wouldn't have to see those heavy eyes.

There polite nods had been about 45 mins apart now.
John was running late, of course was running late there are only so many times you can hit the snooze till the call of dying bodies calls you. Then he's running, ducking, weaving ,dodging people on his way out the door as not to hurt anyone. Next he's in a convenient store grabbing the first shit energy drink he can find, waiting behind a prick who seems to buying up lung cancer from the world, with all the cigarettes he's getting.
And when this prick turns- when he finally turns- he's got the biggest bags John's ever seen, those things were practically suitcases never mind how pretty his eyes were what in the hell could he have possibly seen that made the skin under his eyes look so heavy.
Then he's caught staring but the prick nods politely then the prick leaves.
There polite nods hade been about 45 mins apart now.

He'd heard rumors about him before.
The hair pulling
So locks would fall out
The constant the screaming and cursing like was there was no way out
And the sneaking off to the oven so he'd shrink his head like a drought.

He was a story book fairy tale around this place.

He was the wolf to little red.
He was the unconscience sleep that hung over sleeping beauty's head.
He Aladdin's Jafar.

He was always describe as a monster
But not all of us start off that way.

They described him as a storm only the death of him could have possibly been peaceful.

The first thing he noticed was how his chest was made out of hills.Muscular. Next was how tubes and needles sprung from his arms like flowers in bloom, but then dipping back again into the skin creating caves probably holding things his eyes couldn't.
The second was his tattoos in scribe right across his chest:
"Those depressed flirt with death."
With a little grim reaper with a rose in its mouth doing the tango with a girl. Among others that decorated his skin.
The third was how pity kept falling out John's voice unnaturally.
Walking into the room the -1st of many times- felt like watching a movie when you knew the main character was going to die at the end. And of course John knew he was going to die at the end or else he wouldn't be here. He wouldn't be here with his body looking like an apocalyptic landscape where everything thing you knew was gone. John felt the pity rise in his throat, because if he'd know him before it would've been like seeing the wonders of the world fall at the hands of time. It was like seeing him fall at the hands of sin.
So the pity falling out of John's voice couldn't be helped.
He didn't know what he was doing or how fast his legs were moving until he started checking the vitals and suggesting a smile or the pity
showed John's pearly whites for him.

Thank God Greg walked into the room when he did John was about to start looking at his feet. Such a nasty habit.
"William!"
"Sherlock" John had never heard a voice so articulate ,and demanding, not out of a hospice patient. They were dying these voices were frail. His voice was fighting. He planned on going out with bang.

"Considering the amount of what you have left in our program I wouldn't push it he's the last one."
Greg motions to John, has has this look on his face like he's supposed to know something like its a given.
And with that and the click of Oxford Hills Greg leaves the room.

"Pitiful.."

John tries to come up with some sort of response but it comes out a sigh.

"Pitiful...not you,  your look it's drowning in pity just like the last one... Look I know I'm dying  it's the same reason that I don't drink for fun. Now leave your pity only brings my death quicker."

And with that John left.

That look Greg gave him like he was supposed to know.

He can't be saved. He won't be saved.

Hurricane Thunderclap.