Her pale white palms are camouflaged by the sheets perfectly. Her tiny smile smothered by the oxygen mask. Her maple hair flown over the flattened pillow. Her teddy bear glued to her arm. Her breakfast covering the floor like paint. The smell of hand sanitizer and death throughout the air. This place is too familiar for her. This is where the sick come in and the deceased come out. This is Williamsburg hospital, the place where she had been going for four years now. She knew every nurse by name. She greeted them every day when she came in for her treatment but this time there was no talking, there was no laughter, and there was no breath.
It’s hard to believe that just four months ago she was giggling and playing at the park. Now the empty swing sways back and forth without a cheerful little girl on it. It just had to be on this morning, the most important one for her, that the cancer had to come back. She tried to hide the pain so she could have her party but she couldn’t bare it any longer.
Her mother screams over all the robot voices telling her to calm down. There was no way for all the fear and panic to escape her body when her little girl was being carried into another room alone. Finally she breaks down in tears, trying to settle before the security guards have to kick her out. She can feel the glares and whispers hit her skull like a brick wall as she looks up and to see Dr. Johnson to walk out of her little girl’s room, scuffing his feet as he slowly walked with his head to the floor like a dog after its done wrong. She knew at that moment that her little angel would never turn seven.