White as a Sheet

Chapter 3 - Lily's POV

That is so gross, I think I might vomit and not just because I feel weak.

Fiona seems to be eating Richard's face.

Or maybe she's cleaning his tonsils with her tongue.

Perhaps he's unconscious standing up and she's performing CPR.

I don't know, but it's absolutely revolting.

Staring out through the open vertical blinds of my only window from the corner of my eye to see this, it looks like a video Richard showed me of this video of a mother penguin regurgitating her food into her baby's mouth.

Why would you ever want to kiss someone? It'd be very unhygienic and besides, everyone knows boys have cooties.

Obviously, Richard and Fiona don't seem to care about this.

Richard's hair is ruffled as Fiona runs her hands through it, while they stand near the entrance to the hospital in the staff carpark.

They break apart and Richard fixes his glasses, points his fingers at her like a pistol, hops into his convertible and drives off.

He has this sort of nerd-rebel thing going on. It's weird and the thought of him and Fiona, who's much older than him, together is disgusting.

I see Fiona adjust her clothing and walk inside.

My eyes quickly flick back to the clock. The smaller hour hand is pointing down to the black printed six and the longer minute hand is directly pointed up to the twelve.

Six o'clock: Tea time.

Finally, another day has nearly come to an end. Life sucks but I try to amuse myself.

I always feel so weak, no matter how many vitamins Fiona shoves down my throat.

The metallic door handle turned and the door was opened by a manicured hand.

Speak of the devil.

She's holding a tray of food which is clearly my dinner. The smell makes me sick. Hospital food is just protein and gelatin moulded into something slightly appetizing; how I imagine Tofu to be, but less tasty.

I have a faint memory of my mother standing in the kitchen, stirring a pot of homemade Italian-style sauce, with homegrown Roma tomatoes and loads of herbs. I tugged at her paisley print top with my small hands. She looked down at me and smiled warmly.

My mum could be a very stressed person but when she was cooking or gardening, she was in her own calm state.

She swapped her stirring hand, stirred once more with her left hand and picked up a fork from the bench with her right. She scooped up some sauce with the wooden spoon and picked up a piece of pasta from the steaming pot next to it.

Plopping the pasta onto the spoon filled with chunky tomatoes and sauce, she held it down to me. My lips touched the spoon and I swallowed.

The warm liquid slid down the back of my throat and I munched down on the pasta. It was irresistibly yummy with a rich, sweet taste. The texture was beautiful and creamy and the herbs in it made it burst with flavor.

The piece of pasta was filling and wholesome.

Now I look down at the grey plastic tray Fiona has laid in front of me on a matching plastic table with wheels so it can roll into place over my bed. It holds a plate covered in shiny crumpled foil, a plastic cup, a plastic jug of water, disposable cutlery and a fruit jelly in a translucent plastic cup with a sealed foil lid.

"Now I heard about the trick you played on Richard, you disrespectful child! So now you'll be watching the 6 o'clock news to make up for the education you lost today, thanks to your antics." she said grumpily, her voice like nails on a chalkboard and the makeup near her mouth smudged.