Tears spill over my cheeks as I stare at the putty-coloured walls. My home, my family, all gone in the fire. My skin will heal, but now I live here, in this dreadful place.
I see something move out of the corner of my eye and hold my breath. They say there’s a cat lives here, but the only people who see it are those about to die.An orderly appears and chides me. “Sheila, crying won’t help anyone. Why don’t you go play bingo?”
“Is Alice going to play?”
I peer across the room to see if my roommate’s eyes are open. She’s slept a lot lately.
“I’ll get your cane.” The orderly leaves.
Alice’s hand gestures in the air.
“What’re you doing?” I sound shrewish. It happens when you’re old. You lose the nuance of tone.
Alice murmurs, “Kitty kitty.”
When the orderly returns, I gesture with my chin. “Thinks she sees a cat.”
The orderly’s eyes widen. She turns and stares a moment at Alice whose eyes have closed again. Her lips look blue.
She dashes to the door and yells at the desk, “Get the cart! Call Alice’s family.”
A nurse brings in a cart and the orderly gets me up.
“Let’s get you to bingo while Joe helps Alice.”
It smells like disinfectant and peas in the hall. As I lean on the rail to walk down the stairs, I hear a purr.
A small grey tabby sits on the step.
I smile. “Kitty.”
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Microfiction created for an NYC Midnight challenge
