Institute Collection 11,416 words

Institute Collection 11,416 words





Anzylna

There were no mirrored surfaces where Anzylna paced in quick, energetic steps circling the sparsely, furnished room. The room was twenty-seven steps in circumference, plus a couple steps taken up by a cot, a stool, a chamber pot and a wash basin placed against the wall opposite the locked door. So, possibly thirty steps in circumference, if there had been no obstacles. In truth, the room was rectangular; seven steps wide and ten steps deep. If her steps averaged eighteen inches, then the room's circumference was between fourty and forty-five feet or approximately ten-and-a-half feet by fifteen feet or one hundred-fifty-seven-and-a-half feet squared. It didn't really matter, Anzylna didn't count her steps; she just paced them. She had stopped counting them a long time ago. She paced until she grew tired, or until a meal was pushed through the metal door flap, or when she had to relieve herself, or when she pushed her chamber pot through the open metal door flap, or when the lights blinked off and pitch blackness prevented her from pacing.

She had stopped counting the meals and the periods between black and light. No longer was she tormented by the passage of time. Calculations of distance and time were not important. In fact, she paced and thought nothing at all; only, step, step, step, in a circle, following a dark stain on the cool concrete floor left by the oils and shed skin of her bare feet and the dust that settled from the air over the years of pacing and not thinking.

Then one day, shortly after she had pushed out her chamber pot and retrieved a clean empty one; at the time that she expected her first meal to be pushed into the room; instead, a plastic two gallon jug of water, a wash cloth, a towel, a small wrapped in yellow-waxed paper bar of soap and a comb were pushed into the room. Anzylna stood and stared at this aberration before her. She cocked her head then squatted before these unusual things. Recognition took a long time to trigger what was expected so that she would get her meal. Eventually, Anzylna stood and removed the soiled shirt and shorts and under-garments; folded them neatly into a pile; dragged the water jug to the center of the room where there was a small drain hole; took up the stool and wash basin and placed the stool over the drain hole and struggled to pour some of the water into the basin, only splashing a little onto the floor. When she had the basin half full, Anzylna placed the basin onto the stool, dropped the wash cloth into the cold water and unwrapped the bar of soap. She brought the dry brown wafer to her nose and inhaled antiseptic, then dropped the soap into the water. Before washing, she stripped the cot mattress of pillow and case, sheet and wool blanket; folded the gray stained pillow case, tattered grey sheet, and blanket, stacking them from largest to smallest next to her stacked clothing with the pillow between sheet and case on the stack. Then Anzylna bathed from top to bottom, saving her hair for last. She combed her hair before washing it, dilligently taking out all the tangles. Once her hair was ready, she bent over double and stuck the top of her head into the cold clear water she'd poured into the basin. With her hands, she cupped water over the back of her neck until all her hair was well soaked. She lifted slightly, found the remaining wafer of brown antiseptic soap and lathered her hair until the bar had completely disolved. She worked the soap through her hair still bent over, scrubbed her scalp with her fingertips until both scalp and fingers were sore, then she lowered her head and performed the first rinse. Again, she dumped the soiled, soapy, scum water into the drain and refilled the basin with clear cold water. And again, she bent over and rinsed her hair. She did this two more times until there was no more water and until her hair squeeked. After she emptied the basin, she took the towel and wrapped her head in a loose turban. She wrung out the wash cloth and folded it; dried her hair then folded the towel making a third pile, placing the empty water jug on top of the folded towel and washcloth. She placed the wash basin back against the wall near her cot then sat on the stool still over the drain in the floor and combed her hair; diligently combing out all the tangles. When the tangles were smoothed, Anzylna placed the stool in its place against the wall and stood with her back to the light facing her shadow. Looking at the shadow of her head on the wall, she combed her hair and made four divisions which she braided turning from side to side to see where each shadowed division was. When she was finished she swiveled from side to side to see if there were any stray strands.

Anzylna had taken her time and performed each step meticulously, ritually, reverently. When she was done, she pushed all three piles through the metal flap of the door and waited for clean bedding, clothing and a meal. The first pile into the room was the bedding; Anzylna made her bed. Then the clothing; Anzylna dressed. Then a comb and a brush were pushed into the room taped together with a yellow piece of tape. Anzylna hesitated only a moment then picked them up removed the tape and placed the gifts onto the stool by the wall at the foot of her bed. She pushed the wadded tape out through the metal door flap.

Minutes later her first meal of the day slid into the room. As was her practice at each meal, Anzylna removed her shirt and shorts folded them and placed them on her bed; then she ate. She had learned that clothing wasn't changed very often; she wasn't sure of the length of time between baths, but it was a long interval. She prevented undo soiling of her clothing while eating by removing her clothing.

Anzylna pushed the emptied plastic plate and plastic spoon and plastic cup through the metal door flap. She redressed and she paced in a twenty-seven step circle. She paused in her pacing to use the chamber pot, then she continued to pace until the second meal was pushed into her room, at which time she stopped only long enough to eat. She paced until the third and last meal pushed into her room. After, pushing the emptied utensils through the door flap, Anzylna began a new routine. She placed the stool a step away from the wall, sat with her back to the light, unbraided her hair watching her shadow as she did so and brushed her silky hair until the two-minute warning flickered that the dark period was about to begin.

She readied for bed removing and folding her clothing--she always slept in the nude--and crawled between crisp, fresh smelling bed sheets. She rolled onto her side and faced the concrete wall away from the fisheyed-lensed camera and smiled. This was a good day; a wonderous day; a day to be treasured. Life smelled fresh and good and clean.

The lights blinked off and pitch blackness engulfed Anzylna.

1,235 words


Ranswell


Ranswell stood three paces from the locked, metal door of his room and waited for the meal of the day. He stood very still with his bare feet planted under each perspective shoulder, his hands clasped behind his back and his eyes staring straight ahead. Every fiber of his being listened for the faint metal on metal pivoting of the hinge, the plastic on concrete slide and the metallic clank as the flap dropped to cover the access hole.

Pivot, scrape, clank.

"ATTAIN-HUT." Ranswell brought his left heel to touch his right heel with his feet angled about fourty degrees. At the same time, his hands dropped to his sides and fingers closed loosely cupped with his thumbs pointing straight down at the floor. His gut sucked in with his chin.

"DI--IS--MISSED." Ranswell performed a sharp 'about-face' and leading with his left foot took one step toward his immaculate, hospital corner, bounce-a-dime tight, bed. Then continuing to turn with very little snap, but fluidly crouching, stepping toward and picking up his daily ration. He walked in quick short steps to his stool and sat down to eat.

What did he get today? The pitcher was full of water, it was a twenty-four ouncer. No change in that department. Ranswell placed the water container on the floor by the stool. The plate contained some kind of potato and carrot in a gravy, no meat; but there was bread today. He consciously slowed himself and closed his eyes. He must get the maximum from this meal. First he smelled the steam rising from the gravy. The warmth of the food transfered from the plate, through the dingy fabric of his shorts, to his lap. He counted silently to a hundred-and-twenty before opening his eyes.

The first thing to do was drink some water. Ranswell picked up the pitcher and drank three large swallows of cool water before placing the pitcher back on the floor.

The second thing to do was break bread. Ranswell picked up the thick slice of coarse bread and tore off about a third of it, not quite the size of his fist. He placed the larger remainder on top of the pitcher rim where the area of the spout formed three points for the bread to balance.

The next thing to do was break off a bite sized chunk of bread and drop it into the gravy, then with the plastic spoon scoop up bread, gravy, cubed potato and cubed carrot and eat. Ranswell put the full spoon into his mouth and closed his eyes to feel the warmth of the nearly too hot gravy, the texture of gravy sogged bread, the firmness of the small carrot and potato. He let it sit in his mouth to the count of thirty, then he chewed. He took his time, savoring the mixture of flavor and texture and concentrated on not swallowing until everything was thoroughly mixed together and turned into a less tasteful paste. Ranswell repeated this process, taking his time and relishing every bite until about a third of the food was consumed; at which time, he took the bread from the top of the pitcher and drank another three large gulps of water.

Ranswell then stood and placed the plate of remaining food on the stool and placed the bread on the side of the plate. He would ration it out to two more meals through the passing of the lights-on period. He'd learned his lesson well those first weeks of his incarceration; the lesson that he'd only receive this one ration of food and water and no more for the rest of this cycle. His jailors didn't mind that he wouldn't pass the emptied plate and pitcher through the door flap until near lights out. What he had been punished for was not returning the empty plate and pitcher. The next light cycle brought no food or water at all. And if he returned the plate and pitcher with food or water still on/in it, the next day there was less food and water for the light cycle. On the same token, if he ran out of food and water too soon, the next light cycle he found more of each added to his daily ration. Afterall, ration was the right word; discipline, too, was the right word; as well as, regimen.

As was his regimen after eating, Ranswell poored a little water into his wash basin on the floor at the head of his bed. He then squatted before the basin and washed his face, beard and bare chest with wet hands. He wet his finger and scrubbed his teeth and gums until they squeaked.

After washing he stepped over to the small drain hole and urinated into it, then dumped the remaining water from the basin into the drain, thus cutting the strong urine smell that could accumulate, as he learned those first weeks of his residency.

Disciplined routine now kicked into gear. Ranswell dutifully took the plastic spoon and made a mark on the concrete floor by scrapping the end of the handle back and forth leaving behind particles of plastic near the wall adjacent to the door and directly under the camera. He theorized that if there was a blind spot this would be where it was. He assessed the markings and realized another year was coming to an end; assuming, of course, that the light and dark periods constituted a full day and no more than a full day. If his marks were accurate then he was coming up on his seventh anniversary in this place where time had no real meaning. Ranswell, therefore, made it a point to give his time as much meaning as he could by keeping track of it.

After, marking time, the former sergeant of the thirty-seventh armored battalion prepared for morning calisthenics.

"Fah--all IN." Ranswell took his position and stood at attention. "DRESS-RIGHT-DRESS." The sergeant turned his head sharply and looked along his straightened, right arm outstretched at shoulder length. His fingers opened flat, forming an extended plane. He waited until sufficient time for a group to achieve proper dress and cover. "EYES FRONT."

"A--AT EASE." He snapped his left leg sideways and planted his foot so that both his feet were directly under his shoulders. He clasped his hands behind in the small of his back.

"Deep knee bends--BE---EE--GIN." Ranswell bent his knees and brought his arms up before him as he went down for balance. As he stood his arms went down and to his sides. "ONE, TWO--ONE; ONE, TWO--TWO..."

He performed a hundred each deep knee bends, jumping jacks, prone leg-raises, crunches, push-ups, drop-extend-retract-stand, waist turns, and running in place.

After calisthenics came drill, then lunch.

After lunch came self-defense exercises and meditative Katas.

After self-defense came reciting rules of conduct and making up marching cadences/songs (the raunchier the better).

After that came room inspection; then chow; then K. P.; then personal time; then lights out.

For seven years his routine had established itself and rarely varied. The routine kept him sane and it gave him something to do. It also reduced how much time per day he spent thinking. He gave himself just the brief time between K. P. (when he pushed his empty food and water utensils and his chamber pot out of the room and received a fresh clean chamber pot) and lights out to think.

Sgt. Victor Ranswell leaned his shoulder against the wall directly under the camera. Like he figured, if there was a blind spot it would be there.

Those first months had been chaotic and he'd spent most of the light period and much of the dark period thinking. He hadn't slept; he hadn't eaten properly; he had cursed at the camera and whomever was watching on the otherside. Once during a fit of rage, he broke his knuckles punching the metal door and woke up groggy with a plastiseen cast on his hand and his arm strapped to the side of his body until it had healed. His restraints and cast were changed three times during the healing process and each time he never saw his jailors or the physician or the person who pushed in his food, clean bedding, change of clothing, no one. He was gassed to unconsciousness and had clean restraints and a fresh cast and his hand ached for a day each time. Then one day he was gassed and woke up with no more cast and his arm free. He talked to no one but himself. He started playing soldier to discipline his actions and regiment his time and he didn't lose his temper, anymore. He had broken no laws; he was a prisoner of war on the losing side of the conflict. He hoped he was simply a prisoner of war. He prayed that when the war was over he would be allowed to return to his home and family. Seven years! How long could he stand this?

"As long as I have to, that's how long I can stand this."

The light flickered signalling lights out in two minutes.

Ranswell walked to his cot, untucked his bed and crawled under the sheet and blanket. He counted rhythmically and when he reached a hundred and ten the sergeant yelled, "SA--AL--LUTE." And gave the camera a crisp and snappy bird. He smiled then. It never failed to make him smile when he flipped off his jailors.

What better way to say goodnight?



1,583 words


Sjarush

When the lights flashed on, his routine started. First the systematic stretching of every muscle in his body starting with the toes and working up to facial contortion. Then out of bed. Use chamber pot. Stretch and limber up for yoga exercise. Finally, he sat in a partial lotus position and hummed the mantra and stared at the fish-eyed lense of the camera.

Sjarush relaxed his mind and his body floated. He watched as his little sister picked dandelions in their neighbor's front yard.

What was their names? Dorothy and Samuel Levinson. Sari and he used to play with their children, Levi and Jacob. Well, Sari was too young to play and she was a girl; but she tagged along, nonetheless. Sari picked dandelions and made them into a bright yellow bouquet for Mama. The boys were bored and talking.

What had they been talking about?

Fear tensed Sjarush's mind and he was no longer floating. That was the day it had happened. That terrible day. The dandelions so yellow filled his memory and Sari, his beautiful little sister, jet black hair and brown cherub hands, laughing green eyes and intoxicating giggle when she was happy. And, she had been very happy that day. She was picking a bouquet of bright yellow dandelions for their mother. She ran out of dandelions in the Levinson's yard and he was busy talking tough with Levi and Jacob. They were laughing and shoving each other and proving they were male and tough and Sari had run across the street to pick the dandelions in the McSorley's yard. He hadn't been watching Sari like his mother had told him to and she ran out into the street and that horrible screech of tires skidding on pavement and the scream, the scream of pain and fear that came out of that little four year old girl; his sweet, beautiful, little, Sari; and, he had just stood there, frozen beside Jacob and Levi and he couldn't do anything.

His mother was the first one at Sari's side and it was her wail of anguish that finally unfroze his feet from the Levinson turf. As in a trance, his feet walked him, then ran him to his mother's side and he couldn't see Sari. He saw all the scattered dandelions on the black pavement and they were wilted from the heat. He started picking up the dandelions and made a bouquet of them. His Mother's undulating wails filled his mind; something unchangeable had happened to Sari and he hadn't been watching her like his mother had charged him to do. He walked to the McSorley's front yard and picked the dandelions there. Christine McSorely was the neighborhood grandma and she asked Sjarush what he was doing.

Sjarush was sobbing and picking dandelions for Sari. She needed them for Mama. Mama who was wailing because Sari was trapped under the front wheels of the car and not moving or making any more sounds. He had all the dandelions he could hold now and shrill vehicle sirens were filling up the neighborhood and drowning out Mama's piercing wails that condemned him for not watching and protecting his little sister. He pushed his way through the crowd of adults and children to get to Sari and his mother. He had the dandelions for Sari and Mama. He needed to give them to Sari so everything would be okay; so she could give them to mama and everyone would smile and hug and be happy, again. Then he saw little Sari. Her eyes stared glassy and her little hand that had held dandelions seemed to be reaching for one of the soft bright yellow flowers he hadn't seen to pick up. Then big men in city EMT uniform pushed their way toward the car and scattered the crowd and they pushed him aside before he could give the bouquet of flowers to his sister. He tried to push back but they were too big and strong and his eight year old thirty pound body wasn't strong enough to get to his little sister. So he sobbed and held the dandelions and watched as Sari's limp body was picked up and placed on the stretcher and a black bag zipped closed and that was the last time he saw his sister.

Sjarush wept sitting in a partial lotus position gazing at, but not seeing the fish-eyed camera. His hummed mantra had changed and he murmured "Sari, Sari, Sari, Sari,..."

He didn't notice the food and water that had pushed through the metal door flap. He didn't notice the flickered warning that soon it would be lights out. He floated and he remembered his sister and himself and that terrible day when he was denied giving Sari the dandelions she so loved. He must live that day complete. He must see his little sister and this time give her the bouquet. But, just as he was placing the bouquet into Sari's lifeless hand a blackness overcame him, dizziness swooned over him and he felt himself falling eternally into blackness.

When the lights flashed on, his routine started...

Sjarush was an emaciated young man who refused to eat or drink and who must be force fed intravenously so that he wouldn't die. He meditated everyday he wasn't in hospital and always with the same result.

Sjarush wept sitting in a partial lotus position gazing at, but not seeing the fish-eyed camera. His hummed mantra had changed and he murmured "Sari, Sari, Sari, Sari,..."


The light flickered its warning and an eight year old Indi/American boy placed a bouquet of dandelions into the lifeless hand of his four year old sister. He sighed as he heard a delightful little girl giggle and watched as Sari smelled the yellow dandelion smell.

"I love you Sari and, and I am sorry."

"Sjar-Sjar no no cry. Sar okay." Sari gave Sjarush back the bouquet. "Mama like, give Mama."

"I will Sari, Mama will love these pretty flowers and smile again."

Sjarush floated and smiled in the darkness. Sari was okay now, he'd given the dandelions to her and she had given them back to him. He ran on sixteen year old legs back home. He wore a dingy cotton t-shirt and shorts and his feet were bare but he ran through the back kitchen door and found his mama.

Kesha looked surprised and stared at her emaciated and filthy son. "How can you be here? You can't be here."

"Mama, Sari wants you to have these. She sent me to give them to you." Sjarush handed the bright yellow bouquet to his mother, she took them hesitantly, but when they were transfered they stayed bright yellow and still smelled like fresh summer dandelions. Kesha smiled as she smelled the bright yellow yard weed and tears welled in her dark brown eyes.

"Mama, Sari is okay and sends her love. And Mama, I'm, I'm sorry and, and I love you and, and I am okay too."

Kesha stepped toward her son, he was so thin and his skin nearly crackled when she hugged him, but he was there and she held him and she petted his head and smiled through her tears. "And I love you too, and please I have forgiven you and myself for that day. I just want you to come home to me and we can be family again. Are you home to stay? I haven't received any message of your release. I should have been the one to pick you up, but you are here."

Sjarush smelled hot oatmeal-raisin cookies and his mother pushed him toward the table and chair. He sat and smiled, happiness flooding through him. Sari was happy and giggling and okay and Mama was giving him a cookie, his favorite, oatmeal-raisin, and right out of the oven, too.

---

"His vitals are stable again doctor. He is going to make it." An electronic beep-beep, beep-beep, filled the silence as the doctor lifted an eyelid and waved a hand held light over the exposed eye. "Yes, pupils are responsive and he is breathing on his own, again. Everything seems okay now. I think we have turned some kind of corner. The crisis seems to be over."

"What do we do now, doctor?"

"Continue I.V. and enhanced nutrients. He is dehydrated and malnourished but his heart is young and strong. His EEG is stable also, the activity is calming to normal REM. Whatever this boy was doing he isn't doing it now. Everything is as it should be. It will take time to get his physical condition back, though." Dr. Sorensen picked up a chart hanging at the end of the hospital bed and wrote some cryptic codes that told the medical staff what to do and what the patients condition was at this hour.

"Keep him sedated and I will conference with Dr. Ferris to see if we send him back to his cell for observation or keep him here for recovery."

Dr. Sorensen left the ICU and walked to the nursing station. The desk nurse was talking on the phone as he picked up another chart to orient himself with his next patient.

"Doctor I have Mrs. Kalakesh on the line and she seem's a little, well you talk to her, she isn't making sense and she is asking about her son, Sjarush."

"Mrs. Kalakesh you say? Okay, I have a little time. Odd she should call now."

"Yes doctor, she is asking why her son was released without her being told."

"What?" Dr. Sorensen took the phone from the nurse and frowned as he placed the receiver to his ear.

"I am Dr. Sorensen, how may I help you Mrs. Kalakesh. No, your son is here and he is doing fine. It was touch and go about a half hour ago, though; but he is well on his way to recovery. Yes, Mrs. Kalakesh. I will be conferencing with Dr. Ferris later today to decide his next step of treatment, but from what I can see, your son has turned some kind of corner and, well it looks promising. Yes, Mrs. Kalakesh. I will call you back with any decision we make. Yes, Mrs. Kalakesh. Not a problem. No, no call anytime. Thank-you, and have a good evening. Yes, Mrs. Kalakesh. "

Dr. Sorensen handed the phone receiver back to Nurse Ellis. He opened his mouth to say something but hesitated, closed his mouth, shook his head and turned his attention back to the chart he still held.


---

Mrs. Kesha Kalakesh closed her cell phone and looked into the kitchen where she had left Sjarush. The doctor had said he was still there at the Institute, and that he had just turned some kind of corner in his treatment. She frowned as she looked where her son had been sitting not five minutes ago. The dandelion bouquet was in the corell cup of water and the glass of milk was almost empty and only one cookie was left and it was half eaten. Her Sjarush, had been there and he had given her the dandelions and she had hugged him and he had drank his milk and eaten his cookies, but he hadn't really been there; had he?

Mrs. Kalakesh cleaned up the kitchen and the table. She picked up the corell cup with the dandelions and took them to a small room where there were two alters. One was her husband's, his picture and urn and incense and beside him was Sari. Kesha placed the corell cup of dandelions before her daughter's alter, lit the incense, tapped the small bell hanging between the urns and knelt murmuring a mantra for her daughter. She meditated and found peace. Her son was healing and she was healing. Soon they would be family again. Sjarush had told her so while he drank his milk.

1,984 words

Sjarush II


Sjarush woke up and laid still trying to orient himself. He'd been home and had eaten oatmeal cookies fresh from the oven. But, he was back here; in his bed, in the the room. He sighed deeply and began his stretching. Blood circulated through his emaciated body. He worked out the painfull cramping of under nourished muscles. Then he sat on the edge of his bed. Sjarush felt hunger and thirst, although not as intensely as yesterday. He left his bed and deficated into the chamber pot and urinated in same. As was his routine he looked at the contents of the pot and saw; what was that, a raisin? There had been raisins in the cookie. Did he really run home last night and give his mother the bouquet of dandelions? How could that be possible?

All this time of moving around his room and performing his morning routine, Sjarush never once looked toward the door. Even when he carried the chamber pot toward the door flap to exchange it for a clean one he hadn't noticed that...

Sjarush stopped and looked up. The door was open. The heavy metal barrier had been swung open into the space beyond his room. Sjarush's hands began to tremble as he stepped to the doorway, knelt and placed his chamber pot outside his room. He looked outside and saw that the other room was nearly half the size of his room and it consisted of an unfolded and upright card table and four opened, metal-folding-chairs set around the table. Sjarush suddenly stood and walked briskly back to his bed. With quick precision he removed the wool blanket, folded it then set it on the floor. He folded the sheets and placed them on the blanket; removed the pillow case from the pillow, folded it, placed the small pillow on the sheets and the case on the pillow, then picked up the stack and placed it outside his room next to the chamber pot.

He stood trembling just inside his doorway, licked his dry lips with a thick and too dry tongue, closed his eyes as he sent up a small prayer, then stepped across the threshhold. He stood momentarily next to the chamber pot and bedding, but once realizing he wasn't swooning into blackness and accepted that he'd be allowed to leave his room, he walked toward the small table and sat in the chair that faced the other door. For the first time he smiled, he still trembled, but there was excitement mixed with his uncertainty.

He hadn't sat for very long when the door opened and a wheeled automaton, about waist high, whirred into the room. It carried a tray of fresh cut fruit, some banana, pears, grapes, a small bowl of cooked baby rice cereal, and a drinking glass of water. The automaton placed the tray on the table before Sjarush then whirred over to the the chamber pot. A lid opened on top of the machine and the contents of the pot was dumped inside, a nozzel with a jet of hot antiseptic spray thoroughly rinsed and scoured the pot. The water was so hot that the pot was dry before it was replaced just inside Sjarush's room. The lid closed and the automaton picked up the bedding placed it on top of itself and whirred back out of the small room, leaving the door open.

Sjarush must eat. He understood as much. He was very weak and the effort expended before sitting at the table had nearly maxed out what reserves he still had. His arms ached and were bruised and scabbed where IVs had been removed before he'd been returned to his room. He accepted that he'd been unconscious and under medical care. Sari had told him he'd work still to do and must return to take care of Mama. Tears welled in his eyes and he couldn't see the metal spoon of cooked cereal he held between the bowl and his mouth. His hand trembled. He was about to willingly break the long fast he'd endured so that he could gather the dandelions and give them to his sister. And once given, how he had so wanted to stay with Sari and go with her, but his father had stepped between him and the door of light and forbade him to follow. Then Sari came back and took his hand. She led him to the street where his home was, where his mother was baking oatmeal cookies and told him he must take the dandelions to Mama and he must take care of Mama. So he had burst into the kitchen and let his mother hug him and feed him cookies and milk. And now he was here; and, eating baby rice cereal and drinking water and waiting.

The bowl was empty and the water gone. He'd taken a small bite of each of the fruits on his plate but could not force his stomach to take any more. He leaned back into the chair, which seemed to signal the return of the automaton. The machine cleared the table, then with a metallic, electronic, mechanical voice said, "Fa-ahlow mm-ee, pa-a-lee-eez."

Sjarush stood and followed the machine out the door, through a hallway and into a bathroom facility. There was a shower, a sink, a mirrored cabinet and a toilet with a full toilet paper dispenser and a rack with a wash cloth, a hand towel and a thick long bath towel. On a shelf were clean and pressed clothing that he would have worn at home, shoes and socks. The automaton left him there.

First Sjarush turned on the faucett in the sink, unwrapped the brown bar of antiseptic soap and washed his hands and forearms thoroughly, in hot water, paying particular attention to his left hand and cleaning under his nails. A shiver ran down his spine as he watched the brown and gray grime disappear down the drain. Even in hospital, he wasn't cleaned of the grime of living in isolation. He looked at his bruised and scabbed arms and saw that the skin was of a lighter less dirty color an inch or two around the wounds and realized only where the skin was broken had been cleaned, probably with alcohol swabs. He shook his head, not able to wrap reason around the lack of hospital sanitation when it was obvious that he had been in a hospital facility.

Sjarush stripped and threw his soiled t-shirt, shorts and undershorts into a clothes hamper. He slid the shower door open and turned on the water to the shower nozzel, adjusted the temperature to luke warm then stepped into the spray and slid the door shut. He basked in the gentle fall of warm water over his body. As his skin got used to the temperature, he tweaked the hot valve a little until the temperature reddened his skin comfortably; the sensation was as complete as the nirvana he'd experienced when he had first placed the dandelions into Sari's hand. He wet his tangled black hair and turned slowly allowing himself to enjoy the pleasures of the shower. Eventually, he stepped away from the pleasure and proceeded with the task of washing. First, he shampooed his long hair. He was startled as clumps of black and grey hair stuck to his hands, but shrugged, with the realization that shedding was expected since it had been so very long since he had showered or even combed his hair. The grey had to be from his fasting; he was sure the fasting had to have taken a heavy toll on his body. He must have looked a fright to Mama last night, and yet, she had accepted his unexplained presence with a sincere hug and tears of joy to see him. As he scrubbed himself with a soapy wash cloth, he took inventory of his pale but still brown skin over thin muscle and protruding joints. His ribs protruded, his belly distended and his hips were bowl shaped with skin over them. He reminded himself of some old swami dressed in nothing but the wrappings around his loins in New Delhi, begging on the street.

He had hair in armpits and groin he hadn't realized before. Of course, an eight year old boy wouldn't have these developments and that was how he had mentally seen himself. And, he had grown elsewhere, which, upon reflection, pleased him.

He rinsed and with some reluctance turned off the water and stepped out of the shower stall onto a fluffy floor mat. He wrapped his hair then dried his body. As he rubbed his arms, legs, backs of his shoulders and chest with a plush, soft towel, dead skin rolled and balled up. Sjarush wondered if he should rinse again, but as he dried, the dried, dead skin layer brushed off leaving smooth skin. Sjarush dressed before removing the towel from his hair. He found two combs on the shelf by the sink. He picked the wide toothed comb for the initial detangling. When he was ready for the finer toothed comb he finally looked into the mirror. A gasp escaped involuntarily as he looked at his thin face, his green eyes, gray streaked black hair, and the wisp of a beard and mustache.

"But I have brown eyes. Or, rather, I used to have brown eyes."

Sjarush finished, placed the soiled towels and wash cloths into the clothes hamper, put on his socks and slipped on the shoes, which to his surprise, fitted his feet comfortably. As he stood, the automaton returned and again instructed him to follow.

He was lead back to the smaller room with the table, and when he stepped in through the doorway, he braced himself for the hug from his mother. He recognized Dr. Ferris and Dr. Sorensen who stood next to the chairs by the card table. They were smiling and Sjarush knew he was going home.


1,664 words


Jebediah


Jebediah Francis Zimm laid on the cot and stared in the direction of the camera. The food that held the poison that they wanted him to ingest was where it had been pushed in hours ago. But, he wouldn't eat their poison today. Today, he was going to see what really went on in this room. He stared at the camera.

The camera was on, but was it recording or sending any signal? Jeb could see that the camera was on, because the little red light was on. But, he could never be sure if it transfered what he was doing to a screen that was observed by someone out there. He did things he wasn't supposed to do and there were never any consequences that he could tell. So how could he tell that just because the red light was on, how could he tell if the camera was on? He surmised, he couldn't tell.

Therefore...He watched the red light. He observed it throughout his day and periodically during the dark; how could he not? The red light was always there, just a dot of bright red in the grey case just under the camera lense. Just the one camera, that was visible, there could be more that weren't so obvious, though Jeb wasn't sure how. There weren't any wall mirrors for outside observers looking into the room unbekownst to him, Jebediah Zimm. There weren't any unexplained holes or obvious grates or vents. Jeb just knew that the red light was too damn obvious, and the camera was always in plain sight, so there had to be another camera. Had to be. It made no sense that there wouldn't be.

If Jeb stood with his back hard against the wall directly under the obvious camera, then there had to be a second one offset somewhere to keep him in view. Had to be.

When he wasn't looking at or watching the red light, he made sure to keep his back to the obvious camera and he calculated the angle to hold his body and the position to place himself in the room to keep what he was doing with his hands unobserved if another camera were, say, in the opposite corner. He'd do this for seven light cycles at a time and wait for them to stop him because, they saw him hurt himself. He mustn't hurt himself, that was why he was put in here. He hurt himself when he was out there. But, he was never stopped when he hurt himself here. Which meant the other camera was in the opposite corner or he wasn't hurting himself enough to be stopped; if indeed, they knew he was hurting himself.

Jeb raised himself on his elbow and screamed out his frustration. He screamed at the red light, though he guessed if, If, IF, anyone was observing him they would think he was hollaring at the camera. He didn't care what they thought he was hollaring at; if they thought he was hollaring at the camera then so be it; and better for him, cuz they'd be wrong and them being wrong put him to an advantage, because HE knew HE was hollaring at that GOD-DAMNED SATANIC RED LIGHT!

Jebediah Francis Zimm relaxed and continued to stare at the Devil's eye that glowed red under a camera that may or may not show that he was again hurting himself.

570 words

Summer's Crickets


Summer crouched over the plate and ate every scrap of food upon it, even to the point of licking the plate clean of juice and crumbs. She was outside under the boughs of an old pine tree and she was very much on her own. She knew she was no longer the child of seven who was abandoned by her father in the woods. A little girl who had been sleeping in the tent in her little sleeping bag and her father had left to gather wood to start a cook fire for breakfast, only he never came back. She woke up alone in the tent, in the camp, off the beaten path, in the wild. Being an obedient and well trained child, she dressed herself and went and sat by the stone circle where last night's fire had crackled and kept her and her daddy warm. They had stayed up late into the night watching the dancing flames, smelling the cool forest air, slapping mosquitos, and listening to crickets and the small stream just down a little hill from their camp. She had slept well passed mid-morning and the day was already growing hot. She sat patiently and poked at the crunchy cold coals of last night's fire. Where was her daddy? She was hungry and he was never gone so long before.

The sun was high over head when Summer found a paper drinking cup and walked down to the stream. She remembered to be very careful while by the water, just like her daddy had told her the day before, and she dipped her cup into the water; the same place her daddy had dipped the coffee pot that he heated the water in to make mint tea for their lunch and dinner. And, she drank deeply of the cold stream water. It helped a little bit, but her tummy still hurt from being hungry. She wondered if daddy would get mad if she ate some of the potato chips in the car? He might, but then he might understand that she hadn't had anything to eat all day and forgive her for getting into the food box.

The sun had set and Summer sat on the log by the dark ring of stones with a blanket wrapped around her. She was getting afraid that her daddy was never coming back. Why would he just leave her and never come back. She had made some peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for herself and her daddy, but he wasn't there to eat his sandwich. She talked to the chipmunk and asked where her daddy was and she broke off pieces of her daddy's sandwich and threw them to the little striped rodent.

When it got dark, Summer went into the big tent and pulled out her small sleeping bag and took it to the car. She opened the back door; put the bag on the back seat; climbed in and shut the door; crawled into the bag and went to sleep. If there were animals in camp, she would be safe in the car and her daddy would expect her to find the safest place she could when alone.


Summer had waited for her daddy to come back for four days. He never did. The food lasted okay, but the water from the stream had made her sick. The crickets sang and sang way too loud at night and she dreamed that the crickets chased away her daddy when he tried to come back. She woke up and started screaming for her daddy when a flash light shone bright into the back window of the car. She heard deep voices of several men and a woman, but none of the voices belonged to her daddy. The people were from a search and rescue team. Her grandma had reported that her son and granddaughter were over due from their father-daughter camping trip. She called it in and gave the general area he had planned to spend the weekend outing. It was Wednesday morning when Summer was driven out and flown by helicopter to the hospital to be treated for giardiosis. Her grandma was there and when Summer was feeling better, her grandma took Summer home with her. Her grandma said that her daddy had fallen and broken his hip and the rescue people didn't find him in time, so he was never going to come back.

Everything seemed to be okay. She lived with her grandma. She grew up and graduated high school and Summer met that special someone and was engaged. They married and grandma became a greatgrandma. Then one day she woke up alone in the house. Her husband and three sons had gone camping for the weekend. She didn't like to go camping, but the men in her life loved to and went out a couple weekends over the summertime. She spent the quiet time catching up on special projects she just didn't have time for when the children were home.

Well, Summer laid in bed Sunday night and listened to the crickets outside her open bedroom window and worried. Her men were over due. She slept fitfully and then, when it was Monday morning and they still weren't home, Summer called the sheriff department and reported their lateness. She reported where they usually go and where they had planned to go again this last weekend. She was very calm about the whole thing. Her daddy had said she was a good little girl and knew how to follow the rules. And so, she did as she was supposed to do and waited by the phone.

But the wait was too much for her. She listened to the crickets outside and she knew her men were never coming back.

It was dark in the house when she woke up and heard voices. It was four male voices and they sounded tired. Summer started screaming for her daddy, but she knew he would never come back.

Mr. James Daniels tried to calm his wife, but she didn't recognize him in her hysteria. He got the boys upstairs and started their baths, then returned to try and calm Summer. After about an hour, he finally called an ambulance and they came and took her to County General for observation. While being processed, Summer faded from the world.

Now, she listens to crickets, which aren't there and roasts marshmallows over a campfire, which isn't there, and she sits in her daddy's lap and they sing a silly song about a bear going over the mountain; and she stays awake for as long as she possibly can, because if she goes to sleep she will never see her daddy again.

1,120 words



Randall's Ghosts

"Everybody has ghosts, Doc."

"We aren't talking about everybody else, Randall. We are talking about you."

"Yeah, we are talking about me. So what am I supposed to say?"

"Well, let's talk about how it began. When did you first start seeing ghosts?"

"Well first off, it never started with me seeing any ghosts. It started more like a feeling. You know, feeling like you was watched but there was nobody around."

"Okay, let's talk about that."


The phone intercom buzzed and Dr. Webber sat forward in his swivel arm chair, pushed the stop-play button on the hand held audio disk recorder and picked up the phone receiver.

"Yes, Fran, what is it?" He nodded his head in confirmation even though he was alone in his office and Fran couldn't see him. "Yes Fran, that will be fine. See you in an hour."

George Webber sighed and looked at the large wall clock. It was noon, may as well take a break and get some lunch himself. He wasn't excited about delving into the replay of the fourth Randall recorded session, anyway. "Everybody has ghosts," he'd said. But, there is a difference between Randall's ghosts and the everyday person's ghosts. He had ghosts in his past too, but they never manifested themselves like Randall claims his ghosts have manifested. Randall has a bad dream, and he claims he was visited buy a ghost. Randall, over drinks or indulges in drugs and blacks out and he claims he was possessed by a ghost. The trick with a paranoid schizophrenic was to keep him on his meds and work his perceptions around so that he saw the same reality as others; or at the very least start to question and compare his reality to those around him. The problem was that when he went out into society, there were too many so called mentally healthy people who, if they didn't actually believe in the para-normal, they didn't discount that it could exist. The other thing about Randall, and so many other PSs was that he had stopped taking his meds because the side effects were so debilitating.

Dr. Webber stretched then grabbed his jacket from a wall hook and left his office. He'd come back after lunch and review the tape. At least, the fourth session was more lucid than the previous three. There was a better chance of finding a clue of what in his past triggered Randall's ghosts. What happened and when that tipped the balance from a healthy perception of remorse and/ or guilt to this delusional perception? Or was it simply an imbalance of dopamine and seritonin in the brain? In which case, meds were the answer to the problem, that and another answer was for Randall to want to maintain a constant vigilance over his own perceptions of reality.

While Dr. Webber was at lunch, Randall Fergeson tossed and turned on his cot in his cell, gripped in the thralls of a bad dream. His long deceased twin brother was in Dr. Webber's office and he was tearing it apart. Randall tried to stop Terence, but he just wasn't stong enough. He'd taken his meds and was too groggy and uncoordinated to do more than be pushed around. Before leaving the good doctor's office, Terence destroyed all the audio discs in his files. The three camera's stopped recording right after Dr. Webber had pushed his office door shut so there was no video record of the incident.

No one could explain how a vandal had got into the office or out without being detected. But, most puzzelling of all was a couple days later at Randall's next session.

"Hello Randall, make your self comfortable."

Randall wrung his hands and sat on the edge of the over stuffed chair, his eyes darted over wall hangings and book shelves.

"You seem agitated, today. Want to talk about what is bothering you?"

"I--I'm very sorry, Dr. Webber. I tried to stop him, but he just wouldn't stop."

"Tried to stop who?"

"Terence--I tried to stop, Terence."

"Stop, Terence. Your deceased brother, that Terence?"

"He wouldn't listen to me and he pushed me aside like a toy and just kept breaking things."

"What was he breaking, Randall?"

"He broke your picture of the lake that used to hang there." Randall pointed at a painting of a mountain scene Dr. Webber had just hung the day before."

George Webber caught himself from reacting to what Randall had just said. He wondered how Randall had found out his office had been ransacked; but, obviously he had heard about it. "You are mistaken Randall. The lake painting isn't broken just merely replaced. I felt there needed to be a change of scenery in my office."

"But, I tried to stop him; honest I did. I'm very sorry for all your work being destroyed and your property, too."

"Okay Randall, you have apologized. Now, let us get back to work. In our last session you tried to explain when you became aware of ghosts. The death of your brother had to have been very traumatic. Let's talk about that and how it relates to your manifestations."

"I can't, doc. Terence don't like it when I talk to you about him. It was because I talked about him last time that he trashed your office."

"Okay, you pick a topic to talk about, but it has to be relevant to your healing process."

"Well, I suppose I could talk about Grandpa. I don't think he'd mind."

"You are referring to your Grandfather Fergeson?"

"Yes, Grandpa was the one who used to tell Terence and me about all our ghost family. He explained only Fergeson ghosts we had met in life would ever come back to keep us company. Of all the ghosts who visit me, only Randall don't like being talked about to strangers. Family understands--well Fergeson blooded family that is. My wife never understood and I'm sure you don't either."

"Tell me more about your grandfather. What else did he tell you, besides ghost stories."

"I know you won't believe me, doc. I been taking the meds like you said to but, Terence still came and wrecked your office. The meds didn't stop that."

"We don't seem to be getting very far today."

"No doc, we don't seem to be. I'm done for today. Just don't have anything more to say."

Dr. Webber caught Randall's gaze as it wandered to the right and behind his shoulder and he knew that one of his patient's ghosts was behind him. Well, from Randall's perspective anyway. It would seem that a change in meds was in order. The present combination seemed quite ineffective.

"Well, if you insist in cutting our session short today then I will want to see you again in two days."

"But, we talk every Monday and Friday. Now you want to see me Wednesday, too?"

"Yes, I'm going to make some minor adjustments to your meds and I think seeing you this coming Wednesday will give us a chance to evaluate how this change effects your perceptions."

"Doc, no drug is going to make me stop seeing the Fergeson ghosts. Only if the ghosts just stop coming around will I ever stop seeing them."

"Well, in the meantime, I want you to keep up your journal. Tell me in your journal about your grandfather. Tell me what regrets you have about your relationship with him."

"I got no regrets about grandpa. He's always been good company and I love my grandpa."

After Randall left, Dr. Webber stepped out to talk to Fran about scheduling some consultations that afternoon regarding a change in Randall's medications.

While Randall walked with the orderly back to his room, Terence walked beside him. His brother shuffled his feet and apologized for making things worse in stead of better for Randall.

Randall sighed. It looked like he was in for another round of side effects, and just when he was starting to tolerate the ones he had now.

Grandpa kept telling him to stop talking about them and definately quit telling the psych he still saw him and Terence. But, Randall explained that Webber was too observant and he just couldn't ignore what was right in front of him.

That night, Grandpa Fergeson decided maybe they needed to work the problem from their side. The reason Randall's ghosts were with him was because Randall needed their support. If Randall could get on with life without them, then they wouldn't be drawn to him and he could honestly tell the shrinks he no longer saw ghosts. Then the young man could leave this place with the lesson learned that you can't tell other's about the reality of family ghosts. Randall would just have to learn how to stand emotionally on his own sooner rather than later. He was a Fergeson, and Fergeson's never failed in a thing once they decided. Randall would be out of this place within the year.


1,499 words


Shift Change

There were fifty monitor screens for twenty-five isolation cells. Arlus Linderman, fourth shift oderly, just settled into the plush swivel chair and performed a quick scan of the rooms. Six were unoccupied. With a sigh, Arlus picked up the log book and turned to the first shift entry. He read and noted what went on during the last three shifts.

End of first shift (01:00-07:00):
         Room 1: Unoccupied; sanitized for new occupant.
         Room 2: --all quiet
         Room 3: --all quiet
         Room 4: Rubiash, Anzylna--beginning to add grooming to her routine;
                   stepped up personal hygene schedule to twice a month. Next
                   PHR in two weeks.
         Room 5: --all quiet
         Room 6: Kalakesh, Sjarush--taken to hospital; emergency, total systems
                   crash. Recovering.
         Room 7: --all quiet
         Room 8: --all quiet
         Room 9: --all quiet
         Room 10: Zimm, Jebediah F.--taken to hospital; isolation. Room
                   Unoccupied; not taking meds began compulsive self mutilation.
                   remedicated and under observation.
         Room 11: --all quiet
         Room 12: --all quiet
         Room 13: --all quiet
         Room 14: Unoccupied; sanitized for new occupant.
         Room 15: --all quiet
         Room 16: --all quiet
         Room 17: Daniels, Summer--New arrival; slept fitfully, cried out for her father
                   several times during the night.
         Room 18: --all quiet
         Room 19: --all quiet
         Room 20: Fergeson, Randall--Talking with ghost, Terence; arguement and
                   quite upset, threw his breakfast platter against the door. Then ranted
                   at his brother for ruining his breakfast.
         Room 21: --all quiet
         Room 22: --all quiet
         Room 23: Unoccupied; sanitized for new occupant.
         Room 24: --all quiet
         Room 25: --all quiet

End of second shift (07:00-13:00):
         Room 1: Unoccupied; sanitized for new occupant.
         Room 2: Ranswell, Victor--No Deviation From Routine
         Room 3: --No Deviation From Routine
         Room 4: Rubiash, Anzylna--No Deviation From Routine.
         Room 5: --No Deviation From Routine
         Room 6: Kalakesh, Sjarush--Reclassified Upgraded. Room Unoccupied;
                   sanitized for next occupant.
         Room 7: --No Deviation From Routine
         Room 8: --No Deviation From Routine
         Room 9: --No Deviation From Routine
         Room 10: Zimm, Jebediah F.--taken to hospital; isolation. Room
                   Unoccupied; not taking meds began compulsive self mutilation.
                   remedicated and under observation.
         Room 11: --No Deviation From Routine
         Room 12: Unoccupied; sanitized for new occupant.
         Room 13: --No Deviation From Routine
         Room 14: Unoccupied; sanitized for new occupant.
         Room 15: --No Deviation From Routine
         Room 16: --No Deviation From Routine
         Room 17: Daniels, Summer--New arrival; Seems content to sing and talk
                    with her father. Otherwise; she eats and drinks and appropriately
                   cycles her chamber pot.
         Room 18: --No Deviation From Routine
         Room 19: --No Deviation From Routine
         Room 20: Fergeson, Randall--quiet; ate lunch without incident
         Room 21: --No Deviation From Routine
         Room 22: --No Deviation From Routine
         Room 23: Unoccupied; sanitized for new occupant.
         Room 24: --No Deviation From Routine
         Room 25: --No Deviation From Routine

End of third shift (13:00-19:00):
         Room 1: Unoccupied; sanitized for new occupant.
         Room 2: Ranswell, Victor--
         Room 3: --No Deviation From Routine
         Room 4: Rubiash, Anzylna--beginning to add grooming to her routine;
                   stepped up personal hygene schedule to twice a month.
                   Next PHR. in two weeks.
         Room 5: --No Deviation From Routine
                   Room 6: Kalakesh, Sjarush--Reclassified Upgraded. Room
         Unoccupied; sanitized for next occupant.
         Room 7: --No Deviation From Routine
         Room 8: --No Deviation From Routine
         Room 9: --No Deviation From Routine
         Room 10: Room Unoccupied; Zimm, Jebediah F.--taken to hospital;
                    isolation. under observation.
         Room 11: --No Deviation From Routine
         Room 12: Unoccupied; sanitized for new occupant.
         Room 13: --No Deviation From Routine
         Room 14: Unoccupied; sanitized for new occupant.
         Room 15: --No Deviation From Routine
         Room 16: --No Deviation From Routine
         Room 17: Daniels, Summer--New arrival; ate lunch took short nap;
                   walked with right hand up as if someone (her father?) was holding
                   it.
         Room 18: --No Deviation From Routine
         Room 19: --No Deviation From Routine
         Room 20: Fergeson, Randall--kept his appt with Dr. Webber. Walked and
                   talkedwith ghost of grandfather;remained calm all afternoon; ate all
                   of his dinner.
         Room 21: --No Deviation From Routine
         Room 22: --No Deviation From Routine
         Room 23: Unoccupied; sanitized for new occupant.
         Room 24: --No Deviation From Routine
         Room 25: --No Deviation From Routine

Arlus loved the fourth shift. Mostly, it was observing the sleepers and he had a chance to work on his writing. Every so often one of the clients would do something that needed his attention, but for the most part this shift was quiet and an easy paycheck. He was glad that the Ameri/Indian kid in room 6 got upgraded, and not just because he was getting tired of calling in the med bots to take him into the emergency room. He had grown to like the kid and admired his tenacity. Arlus wasn't up on Hindi mysticism, but the kid definately worked hard at achieving this nirvana thing; and he wouldn't have been upgraded unless he had willingly broken his fasting routine. He had to have finally eaten and drank something. As for the others, Randall's ghosts were amusing. Or more accurately, Randall's conversations, as one sided as they were, were amusing. Jeb in room 20 was a creep through and through. The last couple nights he watched Jeb sneak his compulsions while his back was to both camera's, he couldn't help but feel the small hairs on his arms raise. Somehow, he'd figured out where the hidden camera was. But, the man hadn't figured out that the camera's were also infrared capable, and hadn't bothered to hide his self mutilating tendancies in the dark.

Arlus nearly always laughed along with Vic in room 2. That guy's salute of defiance just before lights out, as far as Arlus was concerned, made him the most sane person in the isolation ward. Of course it wasn't always so, the guy suffered from some horrific nightmares when he was first admitted. Arlus wouldn't be surprised if the guy wasn't upgraded any day now, though. Maybe to the status of isolation with one-on-one counciling with one of the shrinks, like Randy did three times a week.

Arlus turned up the volume in room 20. "Yes I know, Gramps...I really try...No, I guess not...Okay, but can you keep Terence calm too?.."

Arlus shook his head and silently thanked God above he only had to deal with his family while they still lived and then only on the holidays. He chuckled as he wondered if the kid's family had driven him crazy and now he couldn't get rid of them after they died, or if he went crazy after they died and this was the kid's way of keeping them around? And now that he saw them they were really driving him nuts. That, of course, was something for the shrinks to figure out, he just watched them for six hours to make sure they didn't seriously hurt themselves and sent in the med bots if they did.

He turned down the volume to room 20 and turned it up for 17. The new woman was singing in an off-tone little girl voice. "The bear went over the mountain, The bear went ..." She had eaten all of her meal and drank her juice and water and returned the platters okay. But what was she doing with her hands. It was almost like she was, what, roasting marshmallows over a fire? She even sucked and chewed the tips of her fingers as if to remove sticky marshmallow from them. He focused the hidden camera onto her fingertips to make sure she wasn't actually biting the skin. They appeared to be fine. He made a note to be sure and watch for that from now on.

It was about twenty minutes before lights out. Arlus stood and stretched, but kept his eyes on the screens. He noted when food trays and chamberpots were pushed through the door slots and activated the bots to collect and sanitize as appropriate. He flashed the cell lights for the two-minute warning for lights out and watched as each occupant went through their routines. Annie in room 4 stripped and folded her clothing, Victor sent off his salute, Randy muttered something about "behaving" directed toward his dead brother and Summer curled up in her blanket where her imaginary fire would be, or so Arlus, surmised. And the routine in the other cells, the curser in room 3; the wimperer in room 5; the groaners in rooms 9,13, and 22. And all the singers and prayer sayers. All total, 19 occupied rooms being tucked in for the night. Arlus set up his laptop computer and opened up a wordpad document. Then he turned out the cell lights and with the volume up in the rooms listened as each of his wards finally found sleep. Some went pretty fast; within three and five minutes; The wimperer turned into a crier, but was asleep within twenty minutes. No one got out of their beds, and the woman sleeping on the floor stayed on the floor. The next two and a half hours of his shift, Arlus spent writing a new story. He titled it "A Ghost in the Woods." He finished up closed his laptop and rinsed out his coffee cup in the sink in the coffee room next door. Then he grabbed up the log book and wrote:

End of fourth shift (19:00-01:00):
         Room 1: Unoccupied; sanitized for new occupant.
         Room 2: Ranswell, Victor--all quiet--Asleep @ 21:09
         Room 3: --Asleep @ 21:06
         Room 4: Rubiash, Anzylna--brushed her hair before lights out; all quiet
                    Next Personal Hygene scheduled in two weeks.
         Room 5: --cried himself to sleep. Asleep @ 21:21
         Room 6: Room Unoccupied; sanitized for next occupant.
         Room 7: --Asleep @ 21:03
         Room 8: --Asleep @ 21:05
         Room 9: --Asleep @ 21:16
         Room 10: Room Unoccupied; Zimm, Jebediah F.--taken to hospital;
                   isolation. Still under observation.
         Room 11: --Asleep @ 21:06
         Room 12: Unoccupied; sanitized for new occupant.
         Room 13: --Asleep @ 21:27
         Room 14: Unoccupied; sanitized for new occupant.
         Room 15: --Asleep @ 21:12
         Room 16: --Asleep @ 21:15
         Room 17: Daniels, Summer--New arrival to isolation ward; slept on the floor,
                   imaginarycamp fire? Cried out for father; once @ 22:37 and once
                   @ 00:03 went back to sleep shortly after.
         Room 18: --Asleep @ 21:16
         Room 19: --Asleep @ 21:06
         Room 20: Fergeson, Randall--Talking with ghost, Grandfather @ 19:47
                   Yelled at his brother to let him sleep @ 00:42. He hadn't settled
                   to sleep as of the end of the shift.
         Room 21: --Asleep @ 21:10
         Room 22: --Asleep @ 21:19
         Room 23: Unoccupied; sanitized for new occupant.
         Room 24: --Asleep @ 21:08
         Room 25: --Asleep @ 21:05

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