I lay on my back in my bed, picking at the sheets. Why did they pick this ugly color? It’s a gross yellow-green color. This whole place is already depressing as it is, they don’t have to it worse. It’s almost like they were trying to make it happier by picking yellow sheets. Yellow is supposed to be a happy color, right? I guess it makes people thing of sunshine and all that crap or something. I think it’s phony. It’s trying too hard to be happy and then it’s just annoying. Allie’s favorite color was yellow. Maybe that’s why I hate it so much. There’s a knock at the door and the door creaks open. Why do they let the doors creak? That not helping the mood of the place either. A nurse backs into my room pulling a cart in behind …show more content…
Maybe to you but not to me” he replies. This is exactly what someone would say if he were pretending he cares a whole lot but doesn’t care at all. His gaze carefully examines me as if he’s got x-ray vision eyes that can read my thoughts. I shift on uncomfortably on my bed. “I’m just here to get to know you” he says and smiles. I don’t like this man. He smiles too much. “I want to know how you got sick and why you are here. I want to know all about you”. I scoff and roll my eyes. “Okay. I’ve told people before. You can just read my files and learn everything you want to know”. “Maybe. But I want to hear from you. You can tell your own story better than anyone else”. I slant my eyes at him. Should I tell him anything? I don’t see any reason to. But this doctor is different. He’s still smiling but it’s not in his eyes. Why is he smiling if he doesn’t mean it? I guess I should tell someone my story whole story. Maybe it’s time. Or not. I stare at him and he stares back. Maybe I can scare him off. He smiles and says “okay, so not now. I’ll be back”. He stands up and walks out the door, smiling the whole way. I scowl at him back the whole way out. The door creaks shut. I glance down at my notebook and consider it for a few moments. I bend down and pick it up. I grab the pencil on my bedside table and start writing. “If you really want to hear about