We were gathered round Mrs Eames’
hospital bed. Two nurses took her blood
pressure, whispering conspiratorially.
This was all profoundly upsetting. The
registrar had visited earlier. He suspected
Mrs Eames had suffered a mild heart
attack. Auntie was sedated now. The
hospital issue blanket was pulled up
tightly under her chin. William was
looking mortified. I bit my lip in case
I cried. The strong carbolic hospital
smell pervaded my nostrils. I thought
of poor Mother. I prayed there wouldn’t
be another death. I realised how much I
loved Mrs Eames. I leant over and kissed
her forehead shyly. She couldn’t die.

Author: Robert James Berry

Poet & Novelist

182 thoughts on “Die”

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