Tristian Stewart's Memorial Medical Hospital: Short Story

Beep… Beep… Beep… Tristian Stewart’s Memorial Medical Hospital was the epitome of thousands of those little sharp “beeps” piercing their victim’s ears when they walked through the white, floor-to-wall covered hallways. Each one, echoing louder and louder as if I were one of its ghostly-pale pr prisoners escaping. Only thing that separated me from them were their long, cascading blue gowns to my choice of a snug hoodie, jeans, and torn converse.

I kept focus, as I followed the directions the lady at the front desk had given me. Her snaggletooth distracted me from remembering the difference of taking a left or right at the end of the hall. “Left will take you to the bathroom”? And right will take you to your Grandmother Halle”? The lady’s low voice echoed in my head, as I questioned it. Without a doubt in my mind, I turned right. I stared down at the glimmering waxed floor as I walked up to the first door; it was the bathroom.

“Damn it,” I said in a hushed tone to myself, “I’m so stupid. I guess going right wasn’t the right way to go.” This little joke transported me from the depressing hospital to a trip to town I had taken a few years back. The scent

Everyone had the same pain I had--losing a great person. Outside, the rain pattered lightly down as if it were my tears on my face. Like my grandmother’s last few breaths, I huffed and puffed profusely at my grandmother’s funeral; the clouds gathered. The bright flashes of lightning crashed down on Earth as I yelled at my withered-looking grandmother. And thunder diluted the “sorry for your losses”, “it’ll get betters”, and “you’ll get through these.” My mind went numb during the service.

What was I supposed to do? In my mind, my grandmother was the only one that cared for me. My grandmother, the one who raise me from birth, and my parents the ones who have abandoned me to fulfill their own ambitions. What did I have to live for