Long empty hallways branching out on all sides. Walls, nothing but white. The only sounds, a distant monitor beeping followed by a sputtering, hacking cough. Empty rooms littered with machines beside closed off partitions giving the illusion of privacy. Stern faces blur past faintly. Tear-stained and reddened eyes focus only on the ground. The squeaks of a rattling cart nearby can't break the trance. The children have lost their smiles. No words are ever uttered. A steady beeping fills the room.
Everything is white. Everything is clean. Everything is blank. The smell of antiseptic is overpowering. The floors match the walls, the walls match the ceiling- all a front of uniformity, of calm. Hands are clutched together, squeezing tight but no contact is made with one another.
The beeping falters, heads snap up, and it continues once more. A sob escapes pursed lips and someone breaks their stance to wrap an arm around another. Breathing grows ragged as tissues are twisted into even tighter balls. Tears fall silently from eyes scrunched tight, with no thought to wipe them away.
Again the beeping falters...falters but does not regain its steady reassurance. Grandma crumples onto the floor, shoulders shaking. Gasps issue from every mouth as the realization that the beeping will not continue hits. We all stand there staring...wishing our beloved husband, father, grandfather would open his eyes one last time.
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