Now nothing could remain as it once had been. The continuous monotone beeps ringing in her ears tell her, its non-existent rhythm reverberates alongside her erratic and violent heartbeat. Her bloodshot eyes stare sorrowfully at her grandmother, crowded around by doctors and nurses. They stare meaningfully at each other and declares, "Calla-Lily Lovegood, time of death, 23:48." The defibrillator is carefully placed back in its place and the nurses leave. Her mother's miserable cries resonate around the room, her father's usually strong voice quivers as he speaks with the doctor.
"We're sorry for your loss," the doctor says, void of any emotions.
She runs.
Various people call her name, only for all of them to be ignored. Their shouts drown out as she gets further away, flashes of white passing by her cloudy eyes. No noise or whispers can be heard now, only her thundering footsteps and the sobs racking through her body. Her muscles screech at her to stop running, to give herself a rest. She suddenly stands still as her lungs desperately ask for air, giving in to its request. Her body heaves up and down as she breathes rapidly, unable to control her irregular heart rate. She rubs her eyes vigorously, wanting all the tears in her to vaporize now. She wants all feelings to be gone. Her hands slowly move to cover her ears, as she shut her eyes tight. The deafening silence screams at her to move. Move on. Just like the doctors and nurses.
Move on to the next patient. Forget the incurable ones. Leave them to die.
The doctor's frigid face and insincere tone as he said, "We're sorry."
The nauseating smell of antiseptic, the spotless and bare walls.
Everything is abruptly getting to her.
She explodes, screams at the walls and fall down to her knees. She weeps as a new surge of waterfall overcomes her, and she repeatedly tries to wipe it off. Entrapped by the endless listless walls, and unable to crawl out of the dark hole she's bury herself in. She starts questioning why her grandma died. And why is it, that the doctors and nurses don't care? Is humanity really that cold? To have no expression of grief or empathy when talking to the deceased's family, such a way to treat a person's death was sickening. A death was nothing to them; they knew there was no hope for her grandma to live another year. Yet, she was still admitted in the hospital, giving false hope that she would survive. Why? She felt hopeless and repulsed as the realisation came through. Why would the doctors waste their time on someone that would die in a few days? The profit.
She finally understands why her grandma would say such an odd phrase, "death is the wish of some, the relief of many, and the end of all." Her grandma had never wanted to be admitted into the hospital. Her grandma just wanted to stay at home and talk with her granddaughter. She didn't allow that. She wanted her to try to live and to stay with her. She didn't understand back then and she had always wished that the death of people would never come. Let them stay happy here on earth with their loved ones. Now, she would never wish such a cruel thing. Let them end their suffering as her grandmother had. They, such as her need to be relieved of their pain. The truth behind her grandma's words makes her wheezes and pants. She tries to calm herself down and chokes back her tears, unwilling to let anymore fall in the hospital where her grandma just died. The hospital that pretended to offer healthcare, but really only wanted profit. She steels herself; ready to face the hospital staffs with a hard malicious glare. She wouldn't let the hospital have the satisfaction of having made her cry an ocean of tears.
She slowly gets up and looks around. Every hallway of the hospitals looks the same with the tedious painted walls. She has no idea where she is; she's lost in a deserted area of the hospital. She takes a deep breath to rationalise herself and once again, she observes her surrounding. Gradually, her vision starts to sharpen and she sees. A long narrow strip of dull brown has always been painted on the white walls, but unseen because of her hazy eyes before. But rather than making the hospital look more welcoming, it looks more like an unwanted stain. Each door came accompanied with a plastic sign with the room number boldly printed on them. That's what the patients in the hospital have been subjected to, numbers. Numbers that come and goes. If one dies, it's only another number. It always comes down to numbers in the end.
She walks in the direction of the numbers decreasing and follows the sign posted on the walls. Her shoes squeak as she walks along the highly polished linoleum floor. Finally, she reaches her grandma's room, and just in time to see a bouquet of calla lilies put atop her dead body, in hopes of covering the sickly smell of disinfectant. She is then slowly covered by a white sheet, affirming her death at the time of 24:00.
Calla-Lily is gone and so is her granddaughter's innocence, and she cries again, unable to keep her tears at bay.
