Self Care

Barefoot and breath ragged, Norah skidded to a halt when she spotted the room. She took one last furtive glance at the hallway’s alarm signal, but it remained, like all the others, in a sanguine slumber. Her right fist curled tighter around the fire ax, and she opened the door.

The room was blinding in its astringent whiteness.

“If heaven had a sister...,” a voice echoed in her head.

Norah glanced down at her blood-soaked medical gown, an unwelcome shock of crimson, and back up to the machine in the center, with its sky-blue access door. It was still alive with sound, color, and motion.

“The only place for a perfect tomorrow,” the voice echoed again. She had it memorized, down to every inflection. It was her father’s, after all. She was there when they shot the commercial. Even picked out his tie.

She didn’t understand then, but she would.

The machine suddenly stopped. It was time. She took a deep breath, unlatched the door with her free hand, and pulled out the cot.

The body opened its eyes. They were bluer than Norah’s, and kinder, but they were hers.

“Good morning,” Norah said flatly to the body. “We’re leaving.”