Young Writers Society

• /random thingy that surely will turn out to be nothing but I had fun, you can of course say what you dis/like/

March 23

12:32

Page twenty four of thirty.

Spring break. Last year. Weirdly his last memory of himself the way he was before as well. A cloudy reflection. Like a faculty that was coming back to him each time the sun left the skyfield. But those shining stars reminded him of the ones on his old bedroom's ceiling. As the nerd he was back then, he had put thousands of posters in that room which could fit in only one small bed and a desk, maybe a chair. And he loved to read poetry-

So please him with that.

The last sentence was cut off and continued in a different manner. "He had stars on his ceiling, the same as me as a child," said the doctor, forgetting that he was doing his job, or he needed to do it. "Well, reading his diary or not makes no difference for me. For now it does not give me any kind of clue. The only thing I can find not orderly is that he is using third prespective." A sign of no hope was found in what he had said. The notes made no sense at least for Dr. Miller who re-read that single part multiple times. Maybe he needed to leave that one child to someone else then. Him but not the mother. 

He really had no time to think of what might be in the head of this child. His diary was just papers put together with a roses on the front page, drawn with a crayon. The doctor left the notes and walked away towards the door.

7:02

The hospital he was working in was small but it was like his second home. Miller loved kids and most of his patients were exactly that, small and energetic youthful ones who sometimes did not know when to stop fooling around the doctor.

The handwatch on his wrist showed, reminding him how wasteful of his time he could be if he did not stay focused. A young lady had come that morning to stay, being in risky state. Not like it was so much different from other patients. No one expected a person below the age of fifty or over above to have her problems. But who listened to the predictions of humans, the illness has its own way.

First, they could not tell what was going on with her because a coma was something that could lead to many things, none of them good. They needed a clue from somewhere. Poisoning was one of the choices, as well with other kind of traumas from her past, and diseases connected with her nervous system. Nothing from the short life of hers did make any doctor or nurse think of a solution. A medical history check was already performed.  But Miller passed through her papers again, stopping mid-way and realizing he had missed one very important part. He was so lost those days, missing the most needed information.

"She has kidney problems?" 

"Yes but it was last recorded four years ago and no medications had been sent to her since then," One of the nurses, a woman with crosses arms and pithy figure, mentioned right after the doctor's question. "But I guess each thing is important?" 

Captious. You could actually not hide that paper under your armpit.

That lady knew how to push his buttons and not in the good way. She was new, Rose or whatever, even if he was kind..he did not care. Spontaneous and not thinking of what may her words sound like, what a child. But it was not anything connected with him, he bared her like one more stone on his shoulders. So many more important things to think about.

"Anyways," Miller stood up, nurses and doctors doing same, the talk for today was over. "We all have more than enough work for ourselves. I am her main doctor and I will do my best, if you find something that I have not, inform me. That is all. Hope today goes well." He left the stack of papers with medical history down on his desk, each other person going out of their meeting room. It was not that much of a room, several desks and a bit too much chairs. Nurses came in only when called and doctors rested there, the only ten minutes they had in between a surgery or a talk with another patient. Miller felt like the oldest in that hospital, everyone relying on him. He was one of the youngest though, there only from four soon-to-be five years. Only twenty seven.

12:54

He went out of the room, locking the door, no one was allowed in. Ten minutes after his took off, a low noise was heard from behind the curtains. Behind all the chairs. A small child peeked to check if anyone is present in that room together with him, but a smile appeared on its face when he head no other's steps. It only rushed to take the small diary which was open on the last pages.

It was not his.