13

Sobbing.

Dear God, that's the only sound I can hear. I heard it when I was 15. I was a candy striper at the hospital. I was walking back to Mr. Johnson's bed after cleaning his bedpan. Halfway across the room, he opens his eyes, looks at me with terror, opens his mouth wide, breaths in loudly accompanied by a loud death rattle and then just dies. I stayed with his body until it was taken to the morgue even when his family made up of children, grandchildren and some great grandchildren filled the room. They mourned and prayed over his body.

It was a small room filled with at least 25 sad people softly, quietly sobbing. I've heard many heartbreaking and frightening things from the time I was a candy striper to when I was doing missionary work in third world countries, and nothing, not even the screams of that village woman I witnessed being murdered when I was just 16 will ever haunt me as badly as the sobbing will.

God, give me strength, for that demon bastard is getting into my head and using my memories against me. This is punishment for trying to escape. This room is filled with the invisible spirits of the damned and they're sobbing just like Mr. Johnson's family. So many of them. They're sobbing so softly but it's loud enough so I can't even hear the tapping noise of the keys as I type.

Please make it stop.