Coeur Noir

Flash Story. Hospitals.

I despise hospitals. There is something about them that I am unable to define. It's like a weird smell, undetected by any nose that keeps crawling on your skin as you wander inside. Is it possible to smell death? You can smell the disintegration; nonetheless death itself is tasteless, odorless, invisible and nonexistent till it pays you a visit. This rule never applies for doctors.

I used to sit on the other side of the desk. I used to recite all that mumbo-jumbo to every confused, terrified human being who sat in front me. I could almost hear their silent scream as their soul crumbled. My time had come. I found myself on the other side. I wasn't sitting on that chair. I stood in front of the doctor who mumbled riddles. I already knew how to decode them. The scream was no longer silent to my ears.

They say that knowledge is power. I say that knowledge is a sharp, shiny blade that hits you between the eyes out of the blue, devouring every cell of your existence. I asked for my results. He hesitated. Doctors are not supposed to hesitate. I knew that for I was one of his tribe. We may strip out of our uniforms; we may wash our hands with the strongest soap nevertheless we keep failing to vanquish death for good.

Six months was all I got. I wasn't ready to become a memory. Still, I died in that small, dusty room. I slayed the woman who believed that there would always be time to live, to make amends, to love and be loved. She had my face. She was living my life but she wasn't me.

I no longer believe in her.

I am, therefore I stand my ground and I fight.