A cut below the rest

The little boy paces around the room his dark brown eyes blinking at
a ferocious rate. His long eyelashes are like feathers sweeping around
his sockets. "I want my mummy', he says in a thick northern brogue. The
woman hovers above him like a giant looking down from the gods at his
delicately anxious face. "We've had to calm your mommy down with an
injection". She bends down to look at him more closely. "Do you
understand that?". He looks at her blankly and a smile of sympathy
creeps across her face. She turns around and walks out of the room lost
in her own thoughts, leaving the boy staring out of the window. His
eyes are wide and furtive, but his face is cold and lost.
The boy starts to shake. His body pulsates with adrenaline. It is hot
yet cold at the same time. All he can think about is his mother and why
won't she come and take him home. His head hurts from all the
confusion. He sits on the floor and grabs his head in his hands and
rocks himself back and forth. 'Maybe then I won't feel so bad' he
thinks to himself.
Meanwhile just outside the room the woman is talking to a police
officer who is frantically scribbling down notes in his pad. He asks
her several questions, which she answers honestly but reluctantly.
After all she doesn't know all the facts. "This is no place for that
little boy, he doesn't understand". She shakes her head at the
policeman, who doesn't look up from his notebook. "Especially under the
circumstances", she mutters under her breath. The policeman walks off,
he too is shaking his head.
Further down the corridor in an isolated room, a woman lies in a bed.
Her complexion is pale and ashen as if she has seen a ghost. Her hair
is straggling across her face, like a spider's web on a stark white
background. She just lies there not moving a muscle, staring at the
ceiling. Her eyes are fixed and rarely blink. People fuss around her,
one of the older ones pulls the web from across her face, to join the
rest of the mass og blackness on her head. She doesn't feel them and
she doesn't see them. Immersed in her own world she sees nothing but
the grey. "We managed to calm her down eventually". One of the nurses
says to the doctor. He checks her pulse and shines his torch into her
eyes. "Not much going on there". He says coldly and walks away. The
remaining nurse squeezes her hand in the hope she might respond. She
stares into the woman's eyes and all she can think of is 'poor cow'.
She calls to the other nurse "You gotta feel sorry for her ". She
sighs, "She ain't never gonna get over this" .
Somewhere else in the building, lying on a gurney is a man in his
fifties. The surgeon and his assistants have been fighting for the last
hour to save his life. Their gloves are bloodied and soiled. But his
heart has now stopped beating. They take note of the time. "Well that's
it then isn't it" says the surgeon. "He's lost too much blood", the
student tells another. The surgeon asks his student a question relating
to the precise cause of death. "It was because the central artery
running down the middle of the corpus cavernosum was severed". She
answers quickly. "Very good". He nods to her and she walks away
smugly.
Meanwhile one of the head nurses is sitting with the young boy. She
has just examined him for any sign's of injury. He's been lucky really,
just a few cuts and bruises and minor swelling", she thinks to herself.
But that's not all she's concerned about. He puts his clothes back on.
She makes a note on his chart. What concerns her most is the
pyschological impact of such a trauma. All she wants to do is hug him
and tell him everything wil be all right. But she can't because she
doesn't know how it can be all right. She fears the damage is
irreparable. Everytime she touches him the boy quickly draws away. He
gets agitated and tells her she is "BAD, BAD, BAD". Her eyes fill up
and her heart is heavy. Like it may fall out of her chest into a heap
in the floor. She feels a sense of foreboding. The boy is only seven or
eight and already he is lost in his own seclusion. He sits on the end
of the bed muttering "Mummy, mummy". he can hardly string a sentance
together. His arms and neck are covered in some sort of nervous rash.
His breathing is raspy and she suspects he may have the onset of asthma
or some other breathing related problems. She thinks to herself "if
only she could calm him down". She watches him wriggle and writhe for
what seems like forever. But all they can do is wait.
The ward is heavy with an ominous air, it has soaked every individual
with it's portentous cloak. The nurses and doctors are solemn. Everyone
is quietly shocked. They move about their business, distracted and
troubled. They talk amongst themselves with vitriol and rage. "People
like him make me sick". The lady says as she pulls her hand through her
hair. "He deserved to die he was nothing but a monster". Another spits
as she speaks. "How anyone could do that to their own flesh and blood".
The doctor puts her head in her cupped hands. "If the boy hadn't done
it I'd have cut it off myself". The sister touches her crucifix that is
hanging around her neck. A strange little sound cuts through their
conversations. A pager is bleeping and everyone is silent. The staff
nurse walks briskly over to the nearest phone. "The social worker is
here". They all disperse like lightning. They know they must carry on
as if nothing has ever happened. The sick still need their care,
support and attention. They go back to their duties and they think only
to themselves. Their thoughts are that today is one of those days you
wish you could forget. But you can't erase reality it's like a bullet
straight through your heart. Because every second we breathe is a
second of pain, violence and unspeakable suffering for someone,
somewhere else in this treacherous world we live in. That day leaves a
stain in your heart forever.