CHAPTER EIGHT

The surroundings of my dad's hospital were the only beautiful part of the hospital, inside was as grey as a graveyard and as white as heaven. They really had to make hospitals in the colours of death. If it was up to me, I would throw in some pinks and lilacs to give the anguished hearts that patrol these hallways something pleasant to look at. Everyone could used a break in the monotony of dreary grey and wilting white that made one feel like they were in the stomach of death the monster. I know I did feel that way the last time I was here.

The hospital's compound made sure to have everything not found on the inside, as a compensation I suppose. Flowers, my favourite thing, were in every direction that the neck turned. Some forgotten Christmas lights still tangled in the shrubs shone dimly in the twilight. It was life, twinkling in the dark like a promise, like a tangible hope that somehow this life riddled with affliction and endless agony would end in joy, maybe in this world, may