The Green, Green Grass

         The walls, floors, and ceilings of the building were all white. Sterile. It was filled with the disturbing quiet that comes into places where the sick rest and was only broken by the occasional beep of a machine monitoring the heart rate of the sleeping figure before Diane.
         The ivory covers were spotted with what may have been a flower pattern at one time; it now looked like faded polka dots. The covers rested over the body of a woman not more than 20 years old. Her hair was a deep, rich auburn; her eyes, if they were open, would have been the stunning blue that belongs to skies of September and October. How many days now since those eyes had opened?
         Diane's daughter was there, the only sign of life was the procession of jagged lines that recorded each beat of her child's heart. There was little other than this poor creature's hair that still resembled a human being. Since the accident, she looked like something out of a nightmare or an old horror film. Her flesh was wrinkled and dotted with dark spots. Her hands curled into tight fists but her fingers remsembled claws. Her body had become twisted and ruined; the doctors seemed to have no explination for this reaction nor did they seem to care.
         The woman finally rose from the plastic chair that was as uncomfortable as stone. She brushed back a lock of hair the same shade as her daughter's. Diane's lips tried to form a smile as she turned, but they trembled in rebellion. She needed air, fresh air, and a cigarette.
         "I'll be back soon, shorty." Diane's voice had a shiver in it, ice trickled down her spine. Shorty was the nickname that Anna had since she was nothing more than a toddler. She was petite, small, delicate...so fragile.