Cream floor and pastel sheets: like any other hospital it is decorated with the assumption the patient is very young, very fragile, or both. Flowery ceramics in a corner, in various hues of pink. Krissana wonders if there’s ever been behavioral research on how the effect is murderous on the soul, weaponized blandness, but perhaps the point of hospitals is to preserve the flesh to the exclusion of all else. The windowpane throws back her reflection. She is a diagram of wounds, lacerations livid behind the clear chitin of medical sealant, as if offering instruction to medical students.
