The Birth (The Black Wing Book 1) by Miriam Yvette Read Free Book Online

to imagine the attendants being anything, but courteous to their residents. Sure there’s favoritism from a group of attendants and their supervisors. But I have seen how well Gilia’s residents are treated by their attendants. This is the job everyone wanted, why would they put their job at risk by neglecting Ms. Clarisse?
    “You don’t believe me.” she concluded. “Let me finish answering your bright question. The overnight attendants have never been helpful, they’re scum. But one night, I woke up to a sweet voice, your voice. Instead of running away, like you should—you entered the trolls cave, sat on my bed, and re-assured me that everything will be okay.”
    I couldn’t lie to her, I told her I didn’t know the room was hers, and if I did I probably wouldn’t have entered. Ms. Clarisse coughed up a laugh, her throat gargled and scraped—it’s not a pretty laugh.
    “I must have given you the surprise of your life then.” she said. “To be honest, I took some liking to you Lola, I felt like a real person when you sat in my bed. You didn’t see me as some fragile, decaying disease.”
    “No one should think like that” I commented. “People remain as they are, people.”
    “You say that because you’re young. I like your optimism, but have a lot to learn child. If I had no money, Gilia would skip my meals, and call me by the name I hear in the halls. Forgive my rudeness, but I have no hope for mankind. I’m disgusted that I’m treated like a queen over fear and money. Are you aware of how many seniors like me are abused, neglected, and mistreated by everyone—even by their own family. Age is of no value to the young and midlife. Only the old know how important life truly is.”
    Just one question, and Ms. Clarisse is chatting away. She must have felt like she was on a deserted island. She spoke rapidly, and changed the subject—it’s like she’s compelled to share everything on her mind. Perhaps she is right, as a society, we treat those of the retiring age much differently. In public I scarcely saw anyone over 60, they hardly stood out among the crowd of colored hair people. Where else could they be but here? Senior homes have existed for centuries, but how many residents have felt alone, and in their own deserted island?
    “Don’t you have children?” I asked.
    Ms. Clarisse looked at me, squinting her eyes. Her body language changed, her expression grew stiff, and her mouth started to quiver. The room fell silent, I feel like my presence is beginning to suffocate her. These are obvious signs of mental pain. Instead of venting out, she gulped those thoughts and gazed at her frail body. My heart began to sink, I recognized this in myself. She’s suppressing her pain.
    “Take my food today, I’m not hungry.” she let out. “I’d like to be alone.”
    I took the quietly walked out of her bedroom. Ms. Clarisse’s behavior changed the instant I asked about her children. It’s uncommon for someone to quickly revert to a misery state like that. Even so, to witness it, bothered me.
    When I returned the tray to the kitchen, a cook saw my mellow state, and asked me if the tyrant has finally lost attacked. By a miracle she didn’t, but I remained disturbed. I told the cook about my mentioning of her children drove Ms. Clarisse to dismiss me. The cook nodded knowingly, and told me about a rumor concerning Ms. Clarisse.
    “Her own family has cut her off from their lives.”
    “What do you mean cut off?” I asked.
    “You don’t know?” said the cook. “She’s been living at Gilia for three years now, and has not received a single visitor.”
     

     
    The next morning was my day off, but Bradley called me in to work. He said Ms. Clarisse had an accident, and was urgently admitted to the hospital. My thoughts immediately returned to the overnight attendants who Ms. Clarisse says neglect her. Without proof, I can’t believe any attendant would put any resident in danger.
    “I know