Dream Sequence

Last night after dinner I went up to the 9th floor of the hospital, down a narrow submarine corridor of doors and toilets. Right at the end was my cell with a bed, cupboard and sink. I showered then slept, but my consciousness kept drifting towards the phone that lay silent beside me.

3 am. My eyes snapped open at the first shrill ring. Post-extraction hemmorhage. I washed my face, put on my scrubs. Then down the upper floors, feeling like I was in a huge galactic cruiser on the ambient hum of auto-pilot, all its crew in deep, frozen sleep.

On the 2nd floor there was an open-air cross-junction. I realised that it was raining, and that in all 4 directions I was alone. Then an orderly approached from the distance, wheeling a bed. I tried not to look as I hurried past, but the child appeared to be no more than 10.

Half an hour later I disposed of the needles, bloody gauze and cut sutures, wiped everything down, threw my gown away and washed my hands. At least I never have to deal with death. Next door, they were peeling a man's face off a metal bar.

Back on the 9th floor, I stood in front of an open window overlooking the port and the sea. Despite the rain, the cranes were still moving their necks about. There are few things that ever rest, least of all our dreams and constant cravings. And there is nothing like a cigarette at 4 am.