AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Reaching beneath my raven hair, I unclasp the golden locket hanging between my breasts. I hold the golden heart in my palm for a moment, running my thumb over the tarnished brass engraving.
Our lovely lilly flower.
After my parents' death, the few belongings they had were pawned to pay for funeral costs. So when my foster mom pulled me aside on my sixth birthday and explained the gift my parents commissioned for the special day, I could hardly believe it. After mourning them for two weeks, I finally had something tangible to remember them by. Something to stop their memory from fading into nothingness.
It was one of the best days of my life.
I smile, but the motion makes the muscles in my face ache, so I stop. With a sigh, I place the locket on the mattress and turn toward the bathroom. I’m about to pass the threshold when a soft noise stops me in my tracks.
Tap… tap… tap.
With a jolt of something akin to joy, I race over to the window where a small pigeon sits on the windowsill, its beautiful silver feathers barely visible in the shadows. The window shudders and strains against its rusted frame, but with enough force, I’m able to create a space large enough to fit my arm through.
“Good morning, Herb. How’s the missus?” I ask, reaching out to scratch the deep green feathers on his crop. The bird coos in reply, and my lips tip in a smile.
Herb has been tapping at my window for the past few months I’ve been living here, and occasionally, a smaller white pigeon will accompany him on his visits. It doesn’t look like he’s brought her today, which is fine because I’m almost out of birdseed.
“Sometimes I think you leave her at home on purpose,” I muse, pouring the remnants of the seed bag onto the sill. “That way, you don’t have to share your breakfast.”
Herb coos in agreement, then pecks at the seed. I watch him for a while, mesmerized by the way his tiny black beak breaks the shells with ease.
Pigeons are actually quite cute if you take the time to be kind to them. Most people don’t, though, and it’s only that much more sad if you know their history. We domesticated them thousands of years ago, and when they stopped being useful, we cast them to the side, labeling them as dirty, foul creatures when they hang around us because we bred them to do.
I lean my forearms on the sill, watching Herb finish his breakfast. It can’t be all bad to be a pigeon, I suppose. Especially if you’re a pigeon whose name is Herb.
“Do you ever get lonely, Herb? Probably not. But I doubt you think about those things. I guess that’s another bonus to being a pigeon…” I muse, gazing out at the sleeping city. Moriton is a dirty place—a grimy, crime-ridden hellhole of an area to live in—but in these early hours, before the day has started, it’s easier to find the silver lining. It’s almost nice before the hustle and bustle begins again.
My chest squeezes as people begin to stir, and lights come on behind windows. I wonder about the lives they belong to. If they have family, friends, or someone to come home to at night. If they’re happy, or if they’re just as lonesome as me.
A soft coo breaks me out of my thoughts, and I give Herb a sympathetic glance.
“Sorry, buddy. I’m all out,” I say, shaking the empty bag for good measure. He pins me with those beady little eyes, fluffs himself, then takes to the sky.
Shaking my head, I force the window shut and pad into the bathroom. I won’t have time before my shift at the hospital to pick up more seed, and by the time I get off, all the stores will have closed.
Oh well. Herb will just have to eat breadcrumbs tomorrow. I have lives to save.
“Trauma incoming. All personnel stand by.”
The disembodied voice kickstarts my heart and pumps adrenaline through my veins. Twisting my thumb around the thin gold chain dangling from my neck, I skim the crash cart's contents, ensuring I have everything I need for when they bring the patient in.
I’ve been interning in emergency medicine for the past few weeks, and of the things I’ve learned, self-preparation is probably the most vital. There truly is a split second between life and death, and if you’re not mentally and physically prepared, the patient will die.
I’m trying not to think about the latter half of that, considering every case I’ve worked on this week has had me shaking like a leaf. A leaf in the middle of a twister.
I shove my panic down and focus on my breathing, my four years of medical school, the array of instruments in my crash cart. Anything—anything other than the moment they wheel the patient in.
Because when they do, I’ll have to prove myself. Prove that even though I’m only twenty-four, I’m just as qualified as the other interns in this hospital.
I’m broken from my thoughts as a loud cacophony sounds out as the bay doors crash open and a team of staff wheel two separate stretchers in. My body moves on autopilot as I rush over to the first body, taking in the brevity of the situation with a single glance.
Drew speaks first, looking ashen despite his years of experience as a trauma nurse. “Caucasian male in his thirties. Bullet wound to the chest,” he prattles off from the chart in his hand. “They stabilized him on the way over, but his pressure took a nosedive when the ambulance pulled up.”
I look down at the limp form on the stretcher and have to stifle a gasp. Every inch of the man’s skin is covered in intricate black tattoos, except his face. The left side is ungodly handsome, with a striking jawline and full lips that would make even the most experienced women swoon. But the right… is something out of a horror movie.
Rippling, pale scars cover the majority of his face and neck, deforming the flesh horrifically. His eye socket is scarred over, the thickness of the skin reminding me of a burn victim I treated earlier this month, only twice as horrifying.
I’ve never seen anything like it. He must be in agony every waking moment of the day.
