Acid Rain R.D Rhodes (small books to read .txt) 📖

eyes so intense they were like a wolfs. His long, curly brown hair covered his ears and his fringe came down to just above his brows. His woolen Levis jumper was well-fitted around his athletic torso, and the dark blue of it further emphasized his eyes. His skinny, designer jeans were similar to the ones Sanders was wearing. He looked like an actor, or an aged boyband member.

“Hey.” He smirked arrogantly.

“Hull-low.” said the obese woman. She looked numbly at me through eyes that were crushed behind layers of fat on a full, fleshy, sagging face. She didn’t seem to have any neck, just an extra couple of chins that sunk into her shoulders. Her arms and chest were draped over by a baggy, oversized purple top that hung like a gown way down to her knees. She observed me back coldly, and I quickly looked down at the floor. When I raised my eyes again Sanders had her hand on her hip and her front thrust forward. She turned to her left, “Is there a McGillivray there, Kev?”

Kev pulled his eyes away from me and leafed through a series of tickets that were sitting on the trolley. He stopped at one and handed Sanders a tray with a bowl of porridge and a side plate of buttered toast.

“Thanks, Kev.” She handed me the tray, flashing those pearly Colgate ad teeth, “Just make yourself comfortable, darling.”

I took the tray and turned towards the nearest table where two guys in their forties were sitting. The back of their heads were dipped low as I approached. I edged around the table so that my back was to the wall and I could look out onto the room, and I pulled out a chair and sat down. One of the men was sitting two seats to my right, the other directly across from him. They never even acknowledged me. The guy on the other side had less hair and a more receded hairline, but apart from that, they didn’t look much different. They had the same high cheekbones and the same pointed noses, both were around the same age. Both of their heavy, lidded eyes stared glumly down at the food they were picking at.

“Hey.” I said aloud. “I’m Aisha.”

I waited for a response. But there wasn’t one. The balder one stabbed a spoon into his bowl and stirred his milk and soggy cornflakes in a circle. The other guy lifted his eyes and glanced at the nurses at the trolley, then lowered them again to his food. But there was no spark behind his pupils. No sign of recognition.

I looked from one to the other, and I wondered if they were twins. Five minutes must have passed. They kept staring at their cereal and the same lost, gone-with-it look remained. The same deadened expression. It was as if they were both in some sort of a coma. I shifted uneasily in my seat and looked beyond them to the trolley, shocked to see Kev’s blue eyes still on me. He winked at me and smirked.

I glanced away, to Liz at his side, who was watching him looking at me and her stub nose twitched. Sanders was shouting out names.

I watched a few patients come and go and pick up their breakfasts from her. She struggled to be heard over the din of the TV, but it didn’t seem to bother her.

I looked back at the TV and at the many heads fixed upon it. A couple of people were laughing silently, drowned out by the din. I thought I heard a murmur of conversation from the other table, but when I looked the talking seemed to stop. I looked around the walls and towards the window in the corner of the room. Its greyness seemed to seep inside. It felt like it was in everything I could see. I scooped up a few spoons of porridge and swallowed them down past the lump in my throat.

“Robert Alloway.” Sanders shouted. The man I had been speaking to earlier rose up from his seat in front of the TV and crossed over to the trolley to get his breakfast. Sanders ran a hand through her hair. Kev was leering at her from the corner of his eye.

The comatose twins at my table still hadn’t moved, hadn’t altered in appearance. Hadn’t eaten another bite between them. They were just staring into their bowls. Then the same one glanced up at the nurses again.

What is he watching them for? What is he wanting? I wondered.

I was starting to feel even more uneasy. I considered getting up and joining the other table, or sitting in front of the telly with the others, but just then another nurse-an older one with her grey hair in a bun- came into the room wheeling a smaller, squeakier trolley. I watched as her steady, bored grey eyes read from a list she held in her right hand, then she approached each patient in turn, first doing a round of the people who were slumped in front of the TV.

There were several drawers on her trolley, and she kept rolling them open and taking out little clear tubes. She popped these open and allocated out the different coloured pills within them, making each person swallow and show the inside of their mouth before she moved on to the next person. I watched her circle the TV crowd then wheel the trolley towards the other table.

“Sandy Anderson.” She called out, addressing one of the men. The man took a pill from her and swallowed it down.

“Nina Holmes.” The young girl at the table looked up and held out her palm, then tossed what she was given into her mouth.

“Eric Simpson.” The next man did the same.

Then, without raising her head, she angled the trolley around and steered it towards our table. She stopped before