Love is Blind by Kirsty R-D.

The walls were pale, lifeless. Grime residue hid in corners and a nauseous antiseptic smell filled the room. There was only one window and it looked out on to a city doused in a derelict grey. Despite the beeping and whirring of various machines, there still seemed to be a silence so thick you could it with a knife.

In the centre of the room on faded white sheets lay a shell of a man. Jack Floyd’s face was empty of colour, his ashen hair thinning and his lips a pale blue, their surface dry and cracked a million times over. His wrinkles had sunk so deep into his face it was like knives had carved them out. His eyes were closed and his skin was so starved of blood that you could see each little vein and capillary as it snaked along his eyelids.

He was so still you’d think he was dead if not for the machine that occasionally rang out, announcing his heart had finally beaten once again. It was one machine in a battalion of them, each dedicated to providing or measuring something. An IV drip slowly poured fluids into his veins. Wires and tubes seemed to be a part of the frail man, the only parts still going.

The light wooden door opened and an old woman stepped in. Two kinds of clacking filled the room. There was the noise of her high-heeled shoes hitting the floor and the sound of her white stick routinely tapping the floor so that she would know where to go and where not to go. She might not have been able to see but that didn’t stop her from taking care of her appearance. She had on a bright red lipstick and excessively extravagant sunglasses that covered half of her face. Her face had few wrinkles; any sign of aging quickly stolen by a needle and some botox. Her hair was bleach blonde and draped around her shoulders was a leopard-skin fur coat as real as the alligator back on her handbag. She clicked and clacked her way over to her husband. “Jackie, where are you?” She called out, her voice cracking as tears filled her eyes. “Jackie, I’m so sorry. I didn’t see their call ‘till just now. Oh, baby where are you?” She reached out her free hand, coated in the startlingly white gloves she always wore.

Jack pushed his eyelids out of his way and, seeing his wife, Evelyn, said, “I’m here.” His voice was hoarse and raspy, no more than a dying whisper.

The woman rushed over, almost walking straight into the bed. “Jackie, my baby, Jackie.” Her voice cracked and sobs racked her body. She felt around the bed for his hand and clasped it tightly. A gasp escaped her mouth and she almost dropped it when she first felt the plastic tubes attached to his hand. She felt around them all for a second, her face forming one of complete and utter horror. “Oh, Jackie, you’re hands are so cold. I can feel it through my gloves.” She broke down, tears leaving skid marks on her face. Jack put a hand to her cheek. She put her gloved one over it. “Don’t leave me,” she said, her voice only just louder than his, “please, please. Just, just don’t go.”

The old man let his hand go limp but Evelyn held it up there. He cast his eyes downward, as though ashamed. “I-I don’t have a choice.” A silence once again filled the room, those moments between the beeps seeming to stretch out until the end of eternity. Jack drew in a quivering breath and it was as though he had to fight for it. “I don’t know what to do, Evy. I’m scared.”

She grasped his hand tighter and once again was reduced to a puddle of tears. “Oh, baby. Don’t go. Don’t go. Please, don’t go.” She didn’t seem able to contain herself, falling into a fit of ugly crying. “Tell me you won’t go.”

“I won’t. I promise.” He struggled to hold back the ocean of tears.

The woman nodded. “Good, good, good.” She sniffed and wiped her nose. “Do you, do you remember what your momma used to say?” A sad, nostalgic smile crossed her face. “She always-she used to say-” and suddenly her face seemed to wipe clean. “She said you should never make promises you can’t keep.”

Jack looked at the woman he had loved for three decades, his denial-filled brain slowed by the drugs but finally catching up.

Evelyn took off her sunglasses and wiped her way her tears. “Stupid things,” she said, her shades clattering to the floor.

“Evy, no,” came Jack’s croaky voice. “You wouldn’t.”

The woman slowly put her finger to her lips. “Oh, shush, darling. This won’t take a second.” She reached into her bag and pulled out a syringe. Jack tried to call out for a nurse but he couldn’t raise his voice loud enough to get through the walls. He reached out for his panic button but Evelyn snatched it away. “Stop making such a fuss.” He was weakened and so she held him down easily as she forced the injection into his arm. “Night night, honey.” She laughed callously and without humour. She threw the syringe in the bin, folded up her cane and placed it into her bag.

She opened the door just as the machine announced his death.

The life left his eyes and she left the room.