Green Desert - Chapter 1.5.2 - Fírí

The large old man left the room and the small old woman said, “Let’s see your injuries, dear.” She could clearly see my bloody elbows and my scraped-up ribs.

Her clammy hand touched mine and pulled it away from my face. Her wrinkled cheek twitched. Her eyes momentarily narrowed. My injury was that bad.

The lights dimmed. The world swam.

Vata steered me toward the table. I grabbed a chair, plopped down on it. The room twisted and the table hit my shoulder. The tablelegs squeaked and scratched the floor. Vata laid a hand on my other shoulder, held me in place.

“Careful, dear. Sit up straight.”

I pushed against the table with my hand, bumping my elbow in the process. Agony pounded up my arm and replaced the dull void in my head. The room snapped into focus. Green walls––somewhere between seafoam and grass. Oak table, dark and solid. White and tan plaid linoleum. Through a doorless doorway, a living room with pink floral wallpaper, thick brown carpet, yellow curtains.

The old man returned, carrying a stack of ratty paisley bath towels. I held my sweatshirt over my breasts.

“Thank you, dearest.” Vata took the top towel and put it to my face, rough and soft at the same time. I held still as she wiped my cheek, the yellow cloth instantly dark red. She dabbed my temple and pain seared my brain. I could see every wet fiber in the towel, glistening scarlet in the artificial light.