Life is complicated and ridiculous.

At least when staring out of the window at the bright sunlight and rain Nathaniel believes it is. With a small sigh he closes his eyes and just feels. A few cold drops land on his nose and eyelids. He sneezes. The breeze tousles his hair that has grown longer while he's been stuck in this room.

He is sick of the light green walls, linoleum flooring and mass produced furniture. He's sick of the same dull view that is an old woman's living room. She never does anything but knit. Knit, knit, fucking knit. He's sick of the whistling nurse with bright pink hair who keeps staring at him as if he's some kind of a hero. He's sick of Bartimaeus sending him roses as an attempt to provoke him. He hates roses. He's allergic to roses. He sneezes again.

Kitty comes by once in a while, but he presumes she cannot get over her dislike for him. The conversation doesn't flow and he'd prefer it if she didn't try so hard. Still, she brings him a few books sometimes and he appreaciates it, though only to a degree. She's been known to bring him romatic comedies.

They're both plotting against him. It's obvious.

And there's another thing, a thing that he's most surprised by, a thing he never dared to hope for, a thing so unbelievable he's not sure whether he should believe it or not: he's still alive.

He sneezes again and the opened book falls down on the linoleum floor, out of his reach. He curses both of his friends and wonders when the scary nurse will come to check on him.