aesthetic. (dan howell)

eleven

      "ID please," the officer said as I approached the window he stood behind. I slipped it under the glass and he took a few moments to rake away at all of my information with his gaze. He slipped it back into my grasp, and pulled out the visitor list.

      "Who're you here to see, ma'am?" My bottom lip found its way in between my teeth, scratching the back of my neck.

      "William Norman." I said simply, speaking quickly. He looked up at me, an eyebrow raised, and reached for the microphone sitting next to him.

      "William Norman, you have a visitor. Please report to the commons." A doctor dressed in a pristine white lab coat stepped into the room behind me, gesturing for me to follow him. I heard the low hum of the walkie-talkie strapped to his belt, mixed with our footsteps on the concrete floors.

      We entered a room with floral patterns on the walls, and beige carpet. There were men and women walking around, all wearing white t-shirts and deep blue sweatpants. Some were wearing slippers, some had no shoes, and some just wore socks.

      "Rose. My sweet daughter." A small, kind voice said from behind me and the doctor. We both turned, revealing the man I had come here for. He smiled, placing a hand on my shoulder.

      "I'll let you two catch up." He removed his hand from my shoulder and walked the opposite way.

     "How are you, darling?" My father asked, a crooked smile inching its way onto his face.

      "I'm good, Dad. How are you?" He revealed his hands from behind his back, holding out a small plate with an Oreo placed perfectly in the middle.

      "Fresh from the oven." He smiled brightly. I plastered a smile on as well, taking the plate from his fragile hands.

      "Thank you very much." I said, bending down slightly to wrap my arms around him. He pulled away, and took my hand in his.

      "Come sit down." He said, his voice cheery and child-like. He directed me to a free table, sitting at the opposite side I was on. I placed the plate in front of me and watched as he tried to get some form of comfort in the plastic chair.

      "How is third grade, dear?" I tried my hardest to swallow the lump in my throat as he said those words.

      "Dad, I'm 18. I'm a senior now." I said in a kind voice, my words slightly shaky.

      "Your freckles say otherwise, Rosie!" He chuckled. He hasn't called me Rosie since I was 9 years old.

       I slightly laughed along with him, choking back the tears that threatened to surface in my eyes. I bit my bottom lip again, suspending the smile that was on my face. I quickly noticed, and smiled back at him. His face went expressionless. Like he wasn't even there. Like he couldn't even see me anymore, right in front of him.

      "Have you seen Rose lately?" He asked, furrowing his eyebrows at me. My face dimmed. My lips parted, processing the poisonous words that slipped out of his mouth. My eyes brimmed with tears, my vision became blurry. I blinked, sending two tears streaming down my face.

      "Dad, it's me-"

      "She used to be so bright, you know that? Now she's just...she has a dark spirit. She's not happy anymore. Not like she used to be, anyways. I wish I could just see a genuine smile on her. Haven't seen that in a while. I haven't seen her in a while, matter of fact." I was frozen. I just continued to blink at him, letting the tears silently flush down my cheeks. I sniffled as I rubbed them both away. I simply stood up, pushing my chair in. I took one last look at him. He didn't even shift his eyes toward me.