Hospital Food // South

Coming through the alley
Trying to walk without a sound
It doesn't really matter
'cause there ain't no one around
Tip toe through the alley and
Tip toe through your life
You still got it coming
Be it gun be it knife
Next thing you know
You're eating hospital food

Waiting rooms.

That portion of the hospital was of no comfort to Ambrose, not after all the anxious pacing he had done in it over the years. He and it were almost like old acquaintances that had run afoul of each other on more than one occasion and now were reduced to staring at each other coldy whenever they passed by one another on the sidewalk. The floral print on the wallpaper was degrading if not completely unneeded. The colors were faded and indecipherable stains slowly crept up from the floor to add to the grainy, washed out look to something that was supposed to look cheerful and inviting. The receptionist was a young airhead, hair the color of bubblegum and nails to match. She filed a finger lazily whilst keeping a chartreuse eye on the dingy screen in the corner that was broadcasting the day’s arena fights. Both of District one’s tributes had perished by this time, but the remaining careers were interesting enough that most people were still inclined to watch.

Ambrose didn’t have an opinion about them one way or another, only glancing at the screen as he paced whenever a flash of steel caught his eye. He was at the hospital yet again because something terribly wrong had happened to one of his children. Only a few days prior, Aurora had been mugged in an alleyway on her way home and a knife had found its way into her chest to puncture a lung. The horror of that situation ate away at Ambrose far too much, for he knew all too well what that could mean. She could have drowned in her own fluids as her damaged organ tried futilely to keep her breathing, only to send the her speeding to the end that much faster. That’s what had happened to his little brother all those years ago, and the last thing he wanted was to see history repeat itself.

Before he had come to the hospital he had spent some time pacing the family plot in the graveyard, getting lost in his memories and dreading going to the hospital just a little bit. There was still a good chunk of time before visiting hours were over, but he still had to wait for the okay to go to his daughters room in the trauma ward. A peacekeeper had been by the house earlier in the day to take statements and inquire briefly about the nature of her attackers. For the life of him, Ambrose couldn’t figure out why on earth they thought it prudent to question members of the family that weren’t present for the start of the Dempsey family’s latest ordeal when they should have been out and about to find and arrest the criminals. The did mention that the crime rate had appeared to skyrocket in the district beginning with this time last year.

Ambrose could think of a few reasons of why that was the truth but he said nothing pertaining to it. Finally a nurse appeared in the hallway and called his name out. He nodded and followed her down the sterile whiteness of the corridor, passing door after door before coming to a stop in front of room 221. Ambrose was quietly ushered inside before the nurse hurried away. The pocket watch he kept on his person said that over two hours remained to him. More than enough to be able to talk to her without being cut off by the ding of a bell or the sudden re-emergence of an overly exuberant hospital staff member. This was the first day that they were allowing visitors and he wanted to make the most of it. The room was filled with less false cheer than the waiting room, appearing more quaint and quiet than anything else.


A vase filled with white daisies peeped out at him from the windowsill, the glass illuminated by the light of the setting sun and over by her bed was a small wheeled cart with a tray full of untouched food sitting expectantly on the rim. The monitor beeped its lovely tune and he found his eyes drawn to the emerald lines that worked their way across the screen in perfect synchronization. Aurora lay propped up by pillows in the center of the bed, the sheen of the hospital gown looking very much out of place on her figure. Ambrose knew that somewhere beneath that was a patchwork of stitches holding his daughters chest in place and that caused him pain. She sat morosely facing him and after an awkward moment of staring back at her he grabbed a chair and slid it over to the bedside before taking a seat.

He drummed his fingers on his knees as he searched for the words to say. It frightened him that it had been easier to talk about her to the headstones in the graveyard than to talk to her in person. He suspected that it was because it made him think that he’d be burying another child and that was something he never wanted to have to do again. “Good evening Aurora, I trust they've been treating you well here?” Though he truly wanted to ask about her ordeal he knew from past experience that everything would be revealed in its own time and that pressing her for information would only probably cause her to clam up entirely.

Take the wasp alive
He's gonna sting you anyway
And take you to the hive
Yesterday was suckin' and
Tomorrow's looking bad
Who knew that today
Was the only thing I had