I’ve been lain on them, photographed by them and swallowed in by them. Yesterday’s was the last of so many. My poor little body has had enough. It acquiesced, breathed in and out as the generated voice told it too. It obeyed, drank the water, filled its bladder and held it, and then allowed them to inject the dye, (‘It will feel like you’ve wet yourself,’ said the girl with the short fringe, ‘but you won’t.’) I was good. A good girl.
He was standing at the entrance to the hospital by a sort of padded wheelchair-like contraption. We didn’t know him but he smiled at us. ‘It’s good news,’ he said, ‘it isn’t cancer.’
It goes on. Women crying through the radio, despair in their voices. They are being deprived of heating, water, food and being shelled as they try to escape to safety. Oh, let there be an end to it. Let their hell cease. Please.
