Darkness

“Time of death, 3:41am,” I mutter, and the waiting nurse scribbles it down on the record.

“She's not—she can't be—can't you do something?” the woman begs, clutching her daughter's hand so tightly that if it wasn't already pale, it would be white.

“Ma'am, we've don't everything we can do,” I say with composure, watching the crash cart roll away out of the corner of my eye. “I'm sorry.”

I am sorry, but that doesn't mean anything to her, or to her husband, or to their family. Walking out of the room and leaning against the wall, I tip my head back to rest on something solid. I really shouldn't have gone to that party last night when I knew I had the late shift today. My head is swimming with exhaustion, now that the adrenaline has finally quit. I clock out in 8 minutes, but I can't seem to make myself move from this position.

The nurses shepherd the parents away; I can hear the shuffling of feet and stifled sobs. Accusing looks glance off my white armor, but I don't open my eyes. I can't open them. It's all too heavy. It's all too dark.

Inspiration: A section of my friend's novel.