THE HALLWAY

Green Hallway

The hallway awaits.

It beckons.

It calls.

Doors line either side.

Shrill cries fill the air.

Cold creeps into my bones.

Then silence descends.

peek into the first room.

Empty wheelchairs face me.

Except for one.

It turns, rolls to me,

then stops.

I freeze.

The lights flash.

A table appears at the far wall.

A bright surgical light hangs above.

The men in white coats face me.

I open my mouth to scream.

I’m strapped to the table.

The men in white peer at me.

A drill whirls next to my ear.

I struggle against the thick straps.

The room goes black.

THE HALLWAY

Green Hallway

The hallway waits.

It beckons.

It calls to me.

Green lights the way.

Doors open and close.

Cries fill the air.

A coldness descends.

Then total silence.

I inch forward.

Step by painstaking step.

I peer into a room.

A bed in an empty room.

The next room holds a wheelchair.

It turns.

Empty.

A green light glows.

From the room ahead.

Sounds of voices.

I move closer.

Until I can see inside.

Surgery is being performed.

On a skeleton.

By smiling people.

People who fade in and out.

Ghosts.

Time for me to leave.

I’m on the bed.

The ghost are looking down.

At me.

Too late.