Dreaming of Fireflies *rewrites*

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   When I was a kid I lived about a mile from a small branch of the Sacramento Public Library. My fingers combed through the beautiful dusty books almost every day. They had the best books with all the detailed scientific color pages ready for my inspection. I'd draw all kind of notes from them. The drawing books I would fill with information overflowed my whole room. You could learn almost anything about plants, animals, and insects. My favorite were the books about fireflies.

    Fireflies put on a light show that is only rivaled by the stars. I read once that adult fireflies don't live long after they mate.

Flicker, mate, then die.

Breathe.

   The less I think about it the less it hurts. The police rushed us over to this hospital. No matter how much I think about fireflies, my arm still throbs. 

   A dark haired woman comes through the examine room door. She interrupts my thoughts of fireflies. I squeeze my blood coated fist. Empty. The absent knife feels weird, like it should be there and it's not. It's in an evidence bag. The woman's dark hair is wrapped in a French braid. It's intricate work with bobby pins crisscrosses throughout her hair. She has that perfect 50s wife than plus a fresh white lab coat. 

   The woman washes her hands in the sink. She puts on pink gloves with a snap. The woman's big doe-like blue eyes stare back at me. She scans my body with her hand. Her hand hovers over my body. Nothing happen? The woman gives me a small smile and pulls her chair. She sits not too close, but not too far away from me. A careful placement I can tell it's something she has done many times before. 

    "My name is Dr. Kingston, Dr. Quinn Anna Kingston. Can you tell me if anything hurts?" My body tenses as she begins to stand up from the chair. She eases slowly back down.. I give her no reply as we sit and watch each other again.

    She breaks the long minutes, "I can see platitudes will not work well for you. You are at Daughter's Sacramento Hospital for Old Kingdom Magic, exam room three. I can sense no magic from you?" One of her eyebrows lift in a question I don't answer.

The pause is very noticeable.

The clean antiseptic smell is sharp in my nose. But the copper scent of blood hangs around me.   

   She stands to move a step closer while talking to me. It's almost like she's trying to talk me down from a ledge. "This, unfortunately, will be recorded or a uniform officer would need to be in the room. The police officers will stand outside the door. It's hospital policy for Old Kingdom style hospitals," she points up at the cameras.

   The Old Kingdom is one of those terms that are not exactly rude, but it's not polite either. Then again some people see the existence of someone they don't like as impolite.

   "This is a kit to take samples in case of possible ra-," small bark comes from the basket that cuts her off. She looks down at it. 

    Carefully, she removes the basket from my arm. The dried blood cracks off my skin. She winces with sympathy at my swollen arm.

    The doctor places the basket on the table. Her hand works her way into the dirty baby blankets. She pulls out two blood-coated creatures that are all wiggles. The puppies emitted soft indignant woofs removed from the basket.

    "These two might be why you're here instead of the all human hospitals. Hellhounds you don't see that much," she half-grins at the little puppies. The one-sided conversation doesn't phase me as she attempts to lure me into talking.

   "They are both too young for the mother to have named them yet." she makes deliberately slow movements with her hands as she cares for the puppies.