What are we made of?
"Are you ready?" the doctor asked.
You laid still, whether out of weakness or immobility, you weren't sure, maybe a mix of both. There were too many machines you were hooked up to. But you cracked open your eyes anyway, and in that blur you saw her sitting across the room. A small, tawny body in a large chair, you watched the blood bag fill up as her brows harshly furrowed. Stop, I don't bloody need it, you protested with your cracked lips sealed.
Three months tops, they said. Leukaemia.
Your parents stood in front of the television hanging in the corner of the room. Artificial light beamed out the screen. "Ladies and gentleman, let us now welcome America's new President, Mr Donald Trump."
Your mother began to sob into your father's strong chest, and he cursed in native tongue. "Dios ayúdanos a todos."
"All done. How are you feeling?"
You felt a soft hand run over yours, and in a pure voice, your sister said, "I'm okay. How long more till I die?"
Infinite compassion, you hoped.
***
for the devastating results of today's election. it isn't much, just my thoughts in a flash fiction. sending my love, please stay safe everyone.
