Grace
Shortly after the three of them rush out the door, a code red is paged over the intercom. The sound was one of the medical carts being turned over. The carts that carry our medication—our punishments—from hall to hall, floor to floor. After the initial crash, there was a big commotion, and then the shouting. It grows quiet at some point, but the energy, the essence of what’s happened, lingers in the air.
It takes a while, but eventually I realize they aren’t coming back, at least not right away, and I find my way back to bed. Not that I have to travel far. It’s more of a mental journey than a physical one.
I pull the itchy blanket up to my shoulders, adjust the paper-thin pillow, and turn to face the wall. Later, when the ward grows quiet again, I hear a faint mewling sound coming
