Morbid Kali Norris
“It won’t be the end of the world.” The nurse told me, cheerful, showing me how to hold the gauze. I supposed it was true. Inside, the waiting room was luminous and almost empty, but the windows were dark, flat and close, the night outside pressing in like dark water. I wanted to turn on my headlights, just to reassure myself there was something beyond our strange bubble of fluorescent glow. But it was far too great a risk. The only other patient was a woman, sitting by the door, with her back to the windows. She looked young at first glance, a teenager maybe, with a soft, sweet face and pale, weightless hair. There was something hard in her expression, though, that made me think she must be closer to thirty. There was a sudden, unearthly cry, rising over the forest and echoing off unseen mountains. I jumped, jabbing my wound and causing blood to run over my hands. She looked up at me, then. I had the sudden, uneasy realization that what I was looking at wasn’t a person. “I’ll never get used to that,” I said. I sat down facing the windows, which meant I was also facing her, whatever she was. “Yes, you will.” Her voice was ordinary, sweet, her lips like the bloom on summer peaches. Her gaze was intense. “Do you want me to tell you when you’re going to die?” She asked, in the same level way, as though she were offering tea. “Do I?” I asked, licking my dry lips. She looked away, but I thought she might be amused. 12 12
