The Visionary's Bed

As a bed in a fairly well-respected hospital, you’ve seen your fair share of tragedy, sadness, and death in your lifetime. You do your best to support the individuals who you are a, more or less, temporary home for. You comfort them as they fall asleep and are where they spend a majority of their stay at the hospital. It’s not much, but you take pride in your work.

When an old man comes along into your care after a little girl who finally got to go home, cancer free at long last, you don’t think too much. It’s likely that he won’t last too long here, but you’re surprised to say that he holds onto life much longer. It’s not clinging, per se, but more indifference.

When his loved ones come to visit, you can feel him tense. It’s one of the few times he shows any semblance of emotion during your presence; which is saying something, considering you’re almost always with him. His voice sounds tired and his body language doesn’t say much to the others in the room, but you know.

Sometimes, he talks to himself. He mumbles underneath his breath about his experiences and the ability he has to change the world – how he can do amazing things and has the hard-earned knowledge to make it a reality.

And, the funny thing is, you believe him.

written for day 29 of the literal challenge's like the prose event.

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