Anima Luna (Mature)

One-Metaphorically Speaking

Just forewarning; men in this novel are very expressive and easily manipulated. Because they rely on their instincts more, they will be more animal, thus appear cruel, crude, and narrow-minded.

     If you can not stand reading about sexual harassment, sexual abuse, dominate males, jealousy, a manipulative love square, or non-consent, this novel is not for you.

     This is my first time doing a novel such as this. I'm bringing a bit of this and that, experimenting with different ideas. There may be continuous rewrites; as in, I may change individual chapters or an entire scene in the novel.

     This is the first draft; there will be mistakes. Whether grammar or plot, it's still a work in progress.

     Feedback is welcome, however, any personal or divided criticism within Anima Luna will not be welcomed. The common avoidances: fighting within comments, bringing up unrelated topics, etc.

     Thank you, if you've decided to read this far, and I really do hope you enjoy. I can tell the ride will be very difficult, but we can get through this.

May the Anima Luna be gracious of you...

.     .     .     .     .

1 ~ metaphorically speaking

     Ugh.

     I'm so thankful this is the last night the floors are being done. My facility is having the floors waxed, and it seems every floor they wax they make sure it's the one I'm working on. I mean, I've worked on rehab and they waxed the floors. Both long term halls and still; every fucking night it's my hall that's waxed. I'm happy the floors are being cleaned and shined, but it's so inconvenient.

     I sigh. Same shit, different day... At least I'll have an excuse to not answer lights for an hour or two.

     Since I couldn't make my way around the nurses' desk, I punched in the code to the Alzheimer's unit and quickly went in. I apologized for my detour, but my colleague only waves it away with a smile.

     "Take the path many times," the young Native spoke.

     A grateful smile passes my lips and I wish her a good night. With the nod of her head, she returns her attention to the elderly woman wandering the unit and speaks gently to her. I push the numbers on the lock to enter long-term, a.k.a A and C hall, and open the door once it's accepted my code.

     Immediately I head for my safe haven, the unit manager's cubby stored between the two factions. I settle the coffee I made earlier onto the counter and plop down into the desk chair. No lights were blaring and the other two CNAs where on their phones behind the nurses' desk. One nurse, most likely an evening shift nurse, is on the facility's phone talking with someone about a resident.

     I don't bother anyone and roll back to the "desk" made out of old marble and filing cabinets. Netflix was the first thing I clicked on and I prop my phone up against the wall. My latest series flicked on and I began to settle in. From the past two nights, I found that it takes seven coats for the floors to be "waxed completely," the housekeeper's words, not mine.