Isolation Ward

 

 

 

The hallways run out of numbers, expand accordion-style, then gasp for breath, stopping just short of the isolation ward.

Once there, it takes a while for the eyes to adjust to details. The scratches on the windows in the doors of each cell. The fingerprints, the smudges left by clear fluids, perhaps saliva or from tears.

 

 

 

 

 __________________________________________________
 All Content © Dark Passage. Read the Fine Print