Ward 27

The hallway to Ward 27 is dimly lit, and it doesn't help that earthquakes have left superficial cracks, and the peeling wallpaper has been left- no point repairing it 'til EQC have finally come along anyway I suppose.
On the way to Ward 27 you pass the Child Cancer Ward, which has a large sign exclaiming AUTHORISED VISITORS ONLY.
I think I find that ward the most scary.

It's raining outside, and so grey that all the cars have to put their lights on, but still the only light I come across that's on is in the lift.
I get in and go to press level 3, but the girl that's already got in the lift has already pressed it.

"Are you going to level 3?"
"Yep," I answer, pissed off. Clearly I would have pressed another button if I wasn't.
She then dials a number in her phone and starts a loud conversation with someone else I don't care about, laughing obnoxiously as we exit into yet another dim hallway.

My Dad told me a few weeks ago that after his father died, he was walking down the street and passed people laughing, and he felt like the whole world was just being so damn insensitive. I suddenly realise that this is what's going on with this poor girl in the elevator.

I round the corner and see Nan's name on the wall; I almost walk past to reception to inform someone of my arrival (I don't really know who), but just as I've passed the door I realise there are two figures standing next to her bed. It takes a second but I change my mind and turn around and walk straight to her bed.

"Hello, darling!" she hugs me hello and I pull up a chair to sit next to her bed.

The other two stand a metre away, backs against the window as if they're afraid of catching something.

You can't catch cancer.

I check my phone to see how long they could have been here unguarded.
3:17pm.
17 minutes.
Surely they were just warming up.

Arms folded, they engage in patchy conversation with me whilst I talk animatedly to Nan- no use crying now, I can do that in the lift on the way out.

The parasites come out when someone is dying.

Asking for money, possessions, even houses.

Two such parasites had arrived before I did.
Perhaps that's why they stand so far back from her.
They treat her like she's already dead- I suppose it's only natural to recoil from death.

Nestled into the chair next to her, the two soon realise I'm not going anywhere any time soon, and now is not the time.

I notice her say something about "When I get back into my house," during our conversation- just a week ago she'd told me she didn't want to go back home, and I know it's her little way of letting them know they're not getting their filthy hands on it.

The don't even hug her goodbye when they leave, and I find it hard to even glance at them.
If it goes much further I know I won't be able to stop myself from giving them a piece of my mind.

I spend another hour with her before she gets too tired, and kiss her goodbye three times before I go.