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A Short Story : The Bitch Of A Story

Decent Essays
The undertone of bleach hung in the air as Agnes listened to countdown on the Motorola radio, blasting Bay City Rollers. She looked up at the polystyrene tiled ceiling and stood up ready for the evening shift. As she walked along the slate grey floor of the emergency ward the afternoon sun streamed in the west-facing windows, abrasive on Agnes's mahogany eyes, like she hadn't seen sunlight in days. If intimidation could walk, it was. Sauntering, the pace of his footfalls gradually slowing as he approached her. Bitch of a day this one is, her boss said Had better I'm going to need you to check up on last night's disaster Agnes was unable to comprehend and replied with a squinted left eye The beat-up whore, with half a skull. Probably deserved it too This time Agnes's reply was silent Oh, come on love, it was just a joke he reassured, followed by his hand pushing past the elastic of her cornflower blue scrubs. As much as the advances were unwanted Agnes craved the attention. His urges were met with her urge for succour. Her parents as vapid as the sea spray on an August morning, something had to replace her deficiency of warm embraces and shoulders to cry on. Her patient a young woman, Raelene. The paramedics didn't need to explain the circumstances as the gurney wheeled the inert body into surgery, the previous night. No woman slams her skull into concrete six potentially seven times. Empathy was useless Agnes knew the pain like it was her own. Brushing the limply
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