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May. 2nd, 2006 03:43 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
kittydesadeTitle: The Thin Green Line
Fandom: Kingdom Hospital
Characters: None
Prompt: Green
Word Count: 250
Rating: G
Summary: What's really important in Kingdom Hospital
No one understands the importance of the green line until it becomes theirs.
Kingdom Hospital is home to seven comatose patients, three in a persistent vegetative state, and an extensive ICU ward. Of those, perhaps ten receive regular visitors. They know the importance of every beep, every blip, can discern the meaning of every little mark on the screen as well as the doctors. They think, sometimes, that it would save the cost of medical school if only the doctors had had someone in the ICU to watch as intently as they do.
Things in the hospital take on a certain rhythm. The tapping of fingers and toes, the twirling of pencils. It's all the same rhythm, like the bouncing balls of the children, if you look closely enough. Like the soft thud of barely shod feet.
Every breath comes in to the rhythm of the hospital. Breathe in, breathe out, that's good. Turn your head this way, turn your head that. Breathe in. Out. Minute by minute by minute.
Sometimes even the machines do the breathing, in the wee sma's when no one's around to hear. In and out in their clanking metal fashion they mark out the time in tics and blips and little green arrows on black screens. Tic, blip, and, here, clang. Dingle dangle goes the bell. Don't be afraid of the bell, be afraid when it stops. When the green line goes white on black.
Everything throbs to the rhythm of the jagged green line.
Fandom: Kingdom Hospital
Characters: None
Prompt: Green
Word Count: 250
Rating: G
Summary: What's really important in Kingdom Hospital
No one understands the importance of the green line until it becomes theirs.
Kingdom Hospital is home to seven comatose patients, three in a persistent vegetative state, and an extensive ICU ward. Of those, perhaps ten receive regular visitors. They know the importance of every beep, every blip, can discern the meaning of every little mark on the screen as well as the doctors. They think, sometimes, that it would save the cost of medical school if only the doctors had had someone in the ICU to watch as intently as they do.
Things in the hospital take on a certain rhythm. The tapping of fingers and toes, the twirling of pencils. It's all the same rhythm, like the bouncing balls of the children, if you look closely enough. Like the soft thud of barely shod feet.
Every breath comes in to the rhythm of the hospital. Breathe in, breathe out, that's good. Turn your head this way, turn your head that. Breathe in. Out. Minute by minute by minute.
Sometimes even the machines do the breathing, in the wee sma's when no one's around to hear. In and out in their clanking metal fashion they mark out the time in tics and blips and little green arrows on black screens. Tic, blip, and, here, clang. Dingle dangle goes the bell. Don't be afraid of the bell, be afraid when it stops. When the green line goes white on black.
Everything throbs to the rhythm of the jagged green line.