My Hand Mitten by Austin Thacker

Author:Austin Thacker [Thacker, Austin]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Rare Bird Books
Published: 2018-01-11T00:04:33+00:00

Umbrella

Mark continued through the floors in the hospital, his rage building more and more as if there were bugs in his hair, and every step they bit harder, stretching his desire to open the cracked-paint green door leading to Mary’s bedridden body. Mark pushed through the doors toward the third floor. Tom screamed but Mark didn’t listen; he only heard what was wanted, his mind so far gone as he led a trail of dark red blood from his gushing nostrils. He pushed the doors leading to the second floor, and while Tom continued to follow closely behind with his useless screams, Mark froze in place. “Tom,” said Mark calmly. “This is where Mary got the phone call. This is where you died.”

“I’m right here, Mark,” Tom whispered, rushing to his side. “I’m here for you right now, please trust me.”

Mark turned around aggressively and had a face of stiff madness, his eyes wide and fists clenched so hard his nails turned white.

“You’re dead. Leave me alone.” He turned back and came to the first floor’s doors, slamming them open with even more force than before. Everything was ground level, with a door at the end of a short hallway, and another significantly longer, more winding corridor to the right, with a bright exit sign above both doors at the end of each hallway, illuminating its faint glow. The two steel elevator doors were to the left, as shiny and metallic as they were twenty years ago, as if time never passed. The rain pelted the concrete walkways behind the door, echoing louder and louder through the walls and ceiling as a million tiny impacts crashed against the building.

But as Mark walked closer to the glowing exit sign, lost in a trance of desire, Aaron strolled toward the other exit sign on the opposite side of the building. He faintly wondered if Mark was inside, if he had covered his face and run in for the safe haven of dry clothes and comfort. If Mark was sitting, waiting for Aaron on another bench in the hospital. In fact, a part of him wished Mark had run inside and awaited his friend’s attendance like a kindergartener waiting for their mother, because a growing itch of nervousness crept into his mind as he strolled closer and closer to the exit sign, somehow knowing by his own superstitions that the bench was abandoned, that destiny had taken ahold of Mark’s life once again. Then, through the exit door, past the men on stretchers, fifteen seconds before Mark, who blew passed Aaron like a racing dog, and ran through the long, winding hallway toward the operating room.

“Stop, Mark!” yelled Tom. “You need to live in the present! Stop this insane plot of overwhelming rage, before you walk through those final doors outside! I will not follow you into that darkness, into your own self-pity, your madness, your stubborn denial.” Tom stared over his shoulder, toward the roof and back to the sixth floor with a sober gaze.

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