a slice of light
from a door somewhere behind...
concrete & dust
harsh fluorescent light
popping and flickering...
the hallway, wrapped in shadows, perfect squares marring its obsidian from sunlight streaming through windows. rough stubbled chin rubbing raw against my forehead, his blue shirt collar smells of sweat and pungent chemical. strong arms beneath my knees and shoulders grip me tight, carrying me further.
this was before.
he sits at the desk in the corner of the room, ruffling papers, his broad back to me. black rubber soled shoes squeak against the concrete floor, moving the chair forward and back on rollers in impatient rhythm. a till of chewed pencils sits on the edge of the desk. the air tastes damp.
i am on a cot, covered in a rough blanket, springs beneath the thin mattress squeal shrill at my movement. his head swivels slowly from what he has been working on, the shadows and light crawl across his face, accenting the hollows, below his ragged hair line.
i grip the cold metal pipe by the head of the cot, for strength, feeling flakes slip, painting my fingers red, as i draw my body up, for protection. where am i? who is he? confusion, fear, the walls are tight. my eyes scan for a door, a window, shut...a window, too high to reach.
"you took quite the fall. how is your head?"
pain lances my thoughts as i try to recollect a fall, anything...vision slurring...i see him coming toward me...
"...please report to OR2...how is...think he...round...hello...are you..."
clean, antiseptic, the smells are the first indication i am here...awake...breathing...it is hard to understand and bright, so white. i feel gentle pressure on my wrist, a smiling face looms into view, "welcome back."
"wurami?" my tongue is think with thirst.
she puts a cup to my lips, i catch the word hospital in her rapid explanation.
"what about the man?"
"what man? they found you in the emergency room lobby, your parents stepped out for a minute to make a few calls. you have a pretty bad bump on your head..."
i stop listening and just look at the red rust still embedded in the lines of my hand, particularly the one representing my life...
This is a Magpie Tale.