Author's Note:
Hmmm, I don't have anything to say today. . .interesting. . .
I think the fact that school's starting again soon is making me even more depressed than usual.
Disclaimer: I always want what I cannot get, and never get what I want the most. So I don't own Inu Yasha. Yet.
Summary:
Inside Boston Doctors Hospital, patients are dying. In the glare of the operating room, they survive the surgeon's knife. But in the dark, hollow silence of the night, they die. Suddenly, inexplicably, horribly. A tough, bright doctor will risk his career, his very life, to unmask the terrifying mystery. A beautiful and dedicated young nurse unknowingly holds the answer. Together they will discover that no one is safe from. . .
The Sisterhood
Prologue
" It's okay, Momma. . .I'm here. . .it's going to be okay. . ."
The patient stared unblinking at the cracks in the off white ceiling. The rhythmic rise and fall of her chest and the occasional sweep of her tongue across her chapped lips were the only signs that she was still alive. Her now dull, gray-black hair framed a face that had once been quite beautiful.
Now, bleached white skin clung tightly to bone, and dark circles of pain and many sleepless nights obscured her eyes. Although one would have guessed her age around 65, she was actually only months past her 45th birthday, the day on which her illness had first been diagnosed.
The girl seated to one side of the brass bed tightened her grip, but turned away as a tear broke free and glided down her cheek. Five motionless minutes passed; the only sounds came from the constant beep of the heart monitor and the many other machines surrounding the bed.
Finally, the girl scooted her chair closer to the head of the bed, and spoke again. "Momma, can you hear me? Does it still hurt as much? Tell, me, Momma, please. . .What can I do to help?"
Another minute passed before the woman answered. Her voice, though soft and hoarse, seemed to explode from her mouth and echo through the room. "Kill me, for God's sake, just kill me."
"Momma, stop that. You don't know what you're saying. Hold on, I'll get the nurse, she'll give you something."
"No darling. It doesn't help. Nothing has helped the pain for days. You can help me. You must help me."
The girl, more confused and frightened than at any time in her fifteen years, looked up at the bottle draining clear fluid into her mother's arm. She rose and made several tentative steps toward the door before the older woman's renewed pleas stopped her from reaching it.
Slowly, she returned against the bedside, stopping a few feet away. An agonized cry came from a room somewhere down the hall. Then another. The girl closed her eyes and clenched her teeth against the hatred she felt for the place.
"Please, come over here and help me," her mother begged. "Help me end the pain. Only you can do it. The pillow, dearest. Just set it down over my face and lean on it as hard as you can. It won't take long."
"Momma, I. . ."
"Please! I love you. If you love me, too, you won't let me hurt like this anymore. They all say it's hopeless. . .don't let your momma hurt so anymore. . ."
"I. . .I love you Momma. I love you."
The girl continued to whisper the words as she gently lifted mother's head and removed the thin, firm pillow.
"I love you Momma. . ." she said again and again as she placed the pillow over the narrow face and leaned on it with all the strength she could manage. She forced her mind back to the warm and happy times-long spring walks, baking lessons, steamy mugs of hot chocolate on cold, snowy afternoons.
Her body was thin and light, with only hints of her progress to womanhood. Struggling for leverage, she grasped the pillowcase and drew her knees up. With each passing scene, she pressed herself more firmly against the pillow. Bumpy rides to the lake, picnics on the water's edge, races to the raft. . .
The movement beneath the sheet lessened then stopped.
Her sobs mixing with the rattling of sleet against the window, the girl lay there, unaware of the fragment of pillow case which had ripped free and was now clutched in her hand.
After nearly half an hour, she rose, replaced the pillow, and kissed her mother's dead lips. The she turned wand walked resolutely down the hall, out of the hospital, into the raw winter evening.
Hmmm, I don't have anything to say today. . .interesting. . .
I think the fact that school's starting again soon is making me even more depressed than usual.
Disclaimer: I always want what I cannot get, and never get what I want the most. So I don't own Inu Yasha. Yet.
Summary:
Inside Boston Doctors Hospital, patients are dying. In the glare of the operating room, they survive the surgeon's knife. But in the dark, hollow silence of the night, they die. Suddenly, inexplicably, horribly. A tough, bright doctor will risk his career, his very life, to unmask the terrifying mystery. A beautiful and dedicated young nurse unknowingly holds the answer. Together they will discover that no one is safe from. . .
The Sisterhood
Prologue
" It's okay, Momma. . .I'm here. . .it's going to be okay. . ."
The patient stared unblinking at the cracks in the off white ceiling. The rhythmic rise and fall of her chest and the occasional sweep of her tongue across her chapped lips were the only signs that she was still alive. Her now dull, gray-black hair framed a face that had once been quite beautiful.
Now, bleached white skin clung tightly to bone, and dark circles of pain and many sleepless nights obscured her eyes. Although one would have guessed her age around 65, she was actually only months past her 45th birthday, the day on which her illness had first been diagnosed.
The girl seated to one side of the brass bed tightened her grip, but turned away as a tear broke free and glided down her cheek. Five motionless minutes passed; the only sounds came from the constant beep of the heart monitor and the many other machines surrounding the bed.
Finally, the girl scooted her chair closer to the head of the bed, and spoke again. "Momma, can you hear me? Does it still hurt as much? Tell, me, Momma, please. . .What can I do to help?"
Another minute passed before the woman answered. Her voice, though soft and hoarse, seemed to explode from her mouth and echo through the room. "Kill me, for God's sake, just kill me."
"Momma, stop that. You don't know what you're saying. Hold on, I'll get the nurse, she'll give you something."
"No darling. It doesn't help. Nothing has helped the pain for days. You can help me. You must help me."
The girl, more confused and frightened than at any time in her fifteen years, looked up at the bottle draining clear fluid into her mother's arm. She rose and made several tentative steps toward the door before the older woman's renewed pleas stopped her from reaching it.
Slowly, she returned against the bedside, stopping a few feet away. An agonized cry came from a room somewhere down the hall. Then another. The girl closed her eyes and clenched her teeth against the hatred she felt for the place.
"Please, come over here and help me," her mother begged. "Help me end the pain. Only you can do it. The pillow, dearest. Just set it down over my face and lean on it as hard as you can. It won't take long."
"Momma, I. . ."
"Please! I love you. If you love me, too, you won't let me hurt like this anymore. They all say it's hopeless. . .don't let your momma hurt so anymore. . ."
"I. . .I love you Momma. I love you."
The girl continued to whisper the words as she gently lifted mother's head and removed the thin, firm pillow.
"I love you Momma. . ." she said again and again as she placed the pillow over the narrow face and leaned on it with all the strength she could manage. She forced her mind back to the warm and happy times-long spring walks, baking lessons, steamy mugs of hot chocolate on cold, snowy afternoons.
Her body was thin and light, with only hints of her progress to womanhood. Struggling for leverage, she grasped the pillowcase and drew her knees up. With each passing scene, she pressed herself more firmly against the pillow. Bumpy rides to the lake, picnics on the water's edge, races to the raft. . .
The movement beneath the sheet lessened then stopped.
Her sobs mixing with the rattling of sleet against the window, the girl lay there, unaware of the fragment of pillow case which had ripped free and was now clutched in her hand.
After nearly half an hour, she rose, replaced the pillow, and kissed her mother's dead lips. The she turned wand walked resolutely down the hall, out of the hospital, into the raw winter evening.
