Skyflakes

The wind blew and for the thousandth time, she tried to sleep while her eyes were pinned on the green wall in front of her, open. And again, she failed to do the trick.She eventually began shaking her head from left to right unconsciously drifting her thoughts miles away from the four corners of room 418, the reality. Did she finally succeed this time? Yes. She managed to let her soul rest while her flesh and blood stayed awake. Another product of late night scifi movie marathon maybe. Or just plain daydreaming.
Soon after her clueless serenity, the four corners seemed to look confused. Then frightened. The professor dropped to her seat nervous. White as the collars of her dress. While the students gathered in circle. One crying. Another talking to someone in the other line. Another in hysteria. Then shouts. Cries. Prayers. And moments later, a siren…
“Her ECG result seemed normal the last time she was here. Maybe she lost track of her diet. Or maybe she didn’t take the norvasc I gave her, “ the man in white sleeves said with full authority.
The woman he was talking to had nothing to say but an effortless smile was pasted on her face. It was a bit gloomy staying at the heart center but this was home to Fiona.
The woman then recognized that it’s ten minutes past three. Not too late for the regular rosary session.
On bended knees, she remained in silence beside the young picture of sickness with which her “Father God” and “Hail Mary” were for.
It’s hard fighting a traitor disease…which for seventeen years have swallowed Fiona’s desires, vices, happiness.
By three forty, the woman had been seated to the same chair she used three years after giving birth to Fiona. Seeing her child battling cardiopulmonary disorders made her resort to One Faith: a caharidamtic organization of which she never thought of getting herself into.
She looked at Fiona from head to toe and during the travel of her eyes, she recognized that the blanket have wrinkled. As if mother’s instincts dictated her to do so, she automatically reached for the cloth and smoothened it, careful not to touch the tube connecting Fiona’s veins to the hanging medication worth her life.
Of all people, why does Fiona have to be chosen of the burden? The woman tried to convince herself that everything shall be fine. In God’s grace.
She was eighteen when she gave birth to Fiona. Fiona is at her twenties now. She could have ended Fiona’s life long before she knew about the baby I her womb. Yet she failed. All because that was what her conscience shouted. How much did she know about conscience by then? She did not deserve it.
The door of the small room creaked and it was open. Two ladies silently entered wearing the saddest of all the masks they could wear.
The woman welcomed them noiselessly getting an armless chair for the shorter one while offering her seat to the other. She struggled recalling their names and she gave up. But her memory was certain that they were the girls who took Fiona at the center two weeks ago when Fiona had a heart attack during their Humanities class.
The two stayed for almost half an hour asking questions which the woman honestly answered. They might be two years younger than Fiona, she thought for she saw traces of non-adulthood and immaturity in their faces.
The basket of fruits the two brought stood still at the table together with some pink and yellowish tablets of hardly recognizable names, a can of Skyflakes and a gallon of mineral water.
At around five o’clock, the two decided to go and the woman had thanked them for the company. She headed them to the door becoming more conscious of her courtesy but somehow her mind told her something which could be not the smartest mode of waving goodbye.
And with the most forgiving eyes and soft voice she asked, “I really appreciate you visiting Fiona, but who are you again?” L.L.