...the corridors were empty and her head was full.
Oily yellow walls and floors listened carefully to their own ancient rhythm. Two eyes stared into the low lit void of the hallways and penetrated the passage of life in a geriatric ward.
Everyone she cared to settle her gaze on were illuminated in an etheral light and slept in an unconscious world indifferent to the passage of time. Time stood watching with her and kept her company.
Sometimes her eyes fixated on a brush in a far off corner and she fancied the floor was gathering the dust of broken minds and fragmented thoughts ; then visualised herself sweeping the minds up and treading carefully so as not to wake their owners.
Sometimes too she saw herself in the spent people's faces and it kickstarted her mind to dwell on the fragility of life.
Here she was, an introvert in a world full of mouthpieces shouting through foghorns and blasting the fog of her thoughts into oblivion.
A painting of Munch's Scream looked down from the wall in an eerie aura of empathetic awareness and beside it a crucifix of a battle scarred Christ with weeping wounds that were as red as the garish blood sky in the painting. Here she held her breath and stifled her thought process. The world was a cruel place and Golgotha lay in every city.
A patient cried out disturbing the scene and briefly opened his eyes and looked straight at her. 'Will he be here soon?' he said with a terrified expression and she soothed him with a quiet hush.
It would be dawn soon and she decided she would not wait for it.
From her pocket she took out a sharpened knife and without a moments hesitation drew it across her throat. She uttered no sound and lay back in her chair as the sacrificial blood turned her white uniform into a crimson rose.
The scream from the oil painting was unheard in the ward and only the terrified expression of the figure in the painting understood the terror. Christ looked down as her last witness and her eyes slowly closed.
A patient cried in the darkness, 'will he be here soon?'
The silence uttered a quiet hush and an introverts mind turned out her lights.
YOU ARE READING
Weird Reads
PoetryPoems & Prose to read when your coffee is on the brew. A mixture of the light and dark in life. Strange writing from the pen of a weird mind. Caution advised before reading.
