🥀 Hospice 🥀
Mike Kraus
All of this is meant to calm me. To trick my senses into thinking I’m in someone’s living room. There’s a fake leather couch facing an artificial fireplace with silk flowers lining the mantle. A half dozen easy-to-clean pleather chairs are scattered throughout the room along with charming lamps, plastic floor plants, and strangely useless small tables. The wall art seems expensive and devoid of any meaning. The only object on the far wall is a sliding window. On the other side of the glass isn’t an ideal aristocratically manicured lawn, but a middle-aged woman under the crush of paperwork. It’s an obvious ruse hidden under the smell of artificial lavender.
“Are ya da grandson?” A stocky woman with broad shoulders and puffy blonde hair asks. Her blouse is a field of cartoon flowers. I nod. “Follow me, please.” She kindly speaks to me, but I’m not listening. I’m just worried about what I’ll see behind one of these faux wood doors. Behind this door. “Would ya like me ta come in with ya, sir?” I shake my head.
I count to ten and repeat several times. For some reason, it has the opposite effect and makes my heart beat faster. My clammy hand clasps the steel door handle. As I patiently push the door open, there’s a distinct repetitive beep and an odor that can’t be covered by a synthetic flower scent. I peek into the pseudo-bedroom as quietly as possible. The…
