Quiet Desperation

• Christine Chen, Grade 10
• Short Story
• 2011

The world was never just black and white to me. No absolutes. No givens.


A beam of sunlight shone through the half open curtain. Stretching, I stepped off my bed and headed towards the door, it was cold out, the sun barely rising over the horizon. The cool air suddenly engulfed me, like a bear hug, and a mouth-watering scent of milk and breakfast wafted up into the room, through the open door. Hurrying outside I quickly made my way over to Ms Jones, hungrily devouring my freshly made food. I washed my face and quickly plodded through the door to begin my rounds.

Entering Mrs Covett’s room, I positioned myself on the side of the bed. She looked at me strangely; worry edging into her old eyes, as she absentmindedly fondled my cheek. She looked drawn, defeated, the usually crisp white hairs hung raggedly from her wrinkled face. Her eyes had lost most of its lustre; the cerulean blue had dimmed to a dull grey. Her hospital gown looked huge on her bony frame as I clambered up further and revelled in her stillness, preening slightly at the soft touch brushing against my cheek.

I could feel her heart slowing; the warmth of her body, as a slow dripping tap does, slowly draining away. Tilting my face to a side, I glanced up at her, quizzically, watching as the wise eyes surveyed the room over my head. She looked up and greeted the approaching doctor. His eyes held a quiet sympathy and care as the old woman smiled gently at her family members by her bed side, silently saying goodbye. She drew in a few heavy breaths and her lips tilted into a faint smile. Her eyes fluttered closed and the fading beating of her heart allayed to a standstill.

There was a deafening silence as her family and doctor stood at her side with their heads bowed. A loud, melancholy purr erupted from my mouth disrupting the strained hush that had descended over the room, as I too, mourned for the life we had lost.


The world was grey, always grey.
And I preferred it like that.