Just.. get better..Ash
He had heard it before, the soft rhythm in his head. Near the beginning, Ash had suspected schizophrenia. That was common in people like him, right? But then it got louder, more realistic and soon he wasn't really himself anymore. It all started that day with the old man on the top floor of the hospital his step-grandfather worked at. There was an older gentleman there in the third room to the left down the farthest hall, barely reaching 60 candles. But he looked old. He looked sad, lonely, forgotten. He looked sick, and he was, with soft wisps of hair sprouting from his scalp and wrinkled dead skin under his fingernails and his voice, jesus christ his voice. It was so hollow, so empty, like an echo in an empty tunnel.
At first, Ash realized there wasn't anything he could do for the old man. Every doctor in the ward had said that, all of them just had to watch as the man deteriorated. But everyday, Ash stood outside his door. He heard the man laugh as he read the comics in the newspaper his grandniece got him every few weeks. Ash was positive he had read the same newspaper the day before, but his laughter was still as full and cheerful as it had been. Sometimes, Ash cried for the man. It was only one day, when he had called out, "Would you like some ginger ale?" into his empty room. This was when Ash realized there was something he could do for the old man. Everyday, as his health grew worse, Ash read to him. He brought him a new paper everyday and told him stories of work in his clinic and about his grandfather's work. He told him about college, his pet lizards, what movies he liked, about his most recently findings, about what natural plants cure what symptoms and about how eggs can be used to stop blood flow. He told him about a cute girl who had sat four rows up from him in a few lectures, and how his stepfather Nathan was and how his mother had treated him before. Every day, every time, every story, the man listened.
Ash stayed with him for eight months before his heart gave out. It was a cold afternoon and old, dreamy record music skated down the hallway. It only drifted into their room when the man's mouth buckled open. He gasped, one hand reaching for his chest and the other grappled down in Ash's tight grip. Ash just nodded, not speaking a word while the man smiled his way. He nodded and bit his lips and squeezed his eyes shut and tried not to cry. "I have so much to teach. I want you to have it because I know you'll use it the best." He coughed roughly, shaking the entire bed. Ash tightened his shoulders and placed his other hand on top of the one holding the man's. "There's no use hiding white knuckles, son." The man laughed and gave him a pat on the head. "Thanks for staying with me." He sat his head down to the side slowly and turned it towards the window. "Ah, what a nice day."
Those were his last words. Ash stood there for a good thirty minutes before he could choke out a wrenching sound of sniffling and wails. There was never a chance to ask what he was giving him. Ash had sat at his desk for hours, just doing nothing but staring at the wall. Death was harsh, death was unforgiving and sudden and overwhelming and Ash never wanted anyone to die again. He wanted to save them, and somehow now, he knew he couldn't.
It was winter until he went back to work. Nobody asked where he had been, nobody wanted to know. Every night, he waddled off to work with his head low, and he never said anything about it. Working at night gave him time to think, time to work and remember and make a difference. But then he saw the stairs of his co-workers, an old man with hair thin like smoke had both eyes glued on the back of Ash's head. It was painful how similar most older men looked. He would let out a hoarse cough to hint that he needed the practitioner's attention, but Ash merely reached a finger up to scratch behind his ear. "Ashlynn, are you listening?" He would ask, and Ash felt the rage of close-mindedness of everyone surrounding him. Ash felt the sullen furrow of his brow and how his teeth tightened and his jaw clenched and he wanted to run. So finally, he quit. Just in a split decision, a spring morning, he just left. He left the average medical student life behind.
It was morning now on the day he decided to change the pace. This building was different, certainly a more cliché medical center than any he had seen in his training. It was worse than the Alzheimer patient filled retirement home or the cancer section of his former hospital, the place their families had put them to die. This wasn't a place surrounded in death. This building seemed to invite death. Ash sighed as he fiddled with the buttons on one side of his scrubs and scratched a patch of his scalp with heavy footsteps. He had no full grasp of the system, but it seemed to be very individualized for each patient. Similar to a miniature team, the duo of the doctor and the nurse. With his medical knowledge of mentally ill people, he settled for being a nurse. Less work, more downtime, probably a bit more quiet after treatment too. Ash had settled his feet as he neared the entrance to his assigned patient's room. He stopped dead in his tracks and took a brief moment to glance over the papers on his clipboard. Doctor Hunter and Jack Roland.
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OOC: um this is just kind of an intro a good amount of it was pre-written so uhhmm i just wanted to give a little meat to the character the rest of my posts probably wont be so long ;^;
