Samuel Scott, a man who despises Christmas, after a terrible fall is paired in a hospital room with Amy Bell, a woman longing for carols and festive decorations.
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Winter Things by Ariana Grande
I Dream Of Christmas by Sarah Jones
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Christmas.
The most wonderful time of the year. That's what a festive song likes to call this joyous season. For retailers and shopaholics, perhaps. But for the rest of the sane population, December altogether is a month straight out of purgatory.
Take a broken knee and dislocated shoulder, along with suffering a neck sprain, and you witness my horrible luck at that time. Well, it depends on how you look at it. All the cacophonous music, chintzy red and green decorations that hurt the eye, and pretentious smiles, were at once away; locked outside the white hospital room. To think all I had to do was fall from a ladder while working to put a star on the ridiculous ten-foot tree at my parents' house.
Though uncomfortable, the pain can't lessen my serenity in the peaceful silence.
And then.
Disembodied voices. The door opened and instead of the telltale personnel, a patient with tubes and wires exiting her body got wheeled inside by a male nurse, surrounded by colorful pillows and blankets. A female doctor held a chart, following behind them.
"Press the emergency button at any sign of discomfort." The MD said.
The ill woman smiled brightly and nodded. She took the space in, frowning momentarily and showing a joyous countenance anew. "Miles," she addressed the nurse with a cheery hoarse speech, too cheery for a person carrying so many needles on them, "will you bring over the bags later?"
"Yes, but don't create a fire hazard in here." He tried to maintain a stern tone, but a chuckle fled him as he plugged in and connected all the equipment.
"Excuse me." My deep voice, deeper from not having used it in hours, caused all three heads to turn. I could just about see them. "What is going on?"
The doctor frowned, reaching for my chart and reading my surname out loud. "Mr. Scott." She skimmed the pages.
"Amy, nice to meet you." The patient presented her hand, the IV stretching but the gleeful countenance never quit.
Freaky.
I ignored her, she was too far anyway, and focused on the specialist.
"I'm Dr. Barin. Ms. Bell will remain here till her recovery." She cast a look towards Ms. Bell.
"Is there no other room available?" I plead. How even here, with broken bones and sprains, I cannot have uninterrupted peace and quiet?
"Afraid not. Holidays are the worst for a hospital. There's always an influx of patients."
