JAMES
“Morning, James,” the chirpy nurse, who comes in every morning, says. “Time to wake up.”
I am awake. I don’t look at her. I don’t look at anybody. I spend my days lying on my back with my head flopped to the side, staring at the magnolia wall until my spine starts to ache, then I turn over and look at the wooden cupboards with no doors instead.
“I have your meds. Are you going to take them for me today?”
No.
She asks again, and again she gets no response. I just want her to go away. I want it all to go away.
“The breakfast trolley will be coming around soon. Are you going to eat today?”
No.
“I’ll be back in a little while to change your bandages.”
When she leaves, I roll onto my side and continue staring at the wall. I shouldn’t be here. I shouldn’t be anywhere. I was so
