My mother had fallen ill. I was the only person there to help her, for my father had died of the flu three years prior, and my two brothers were far away, and out of contact. They were ignorant, I believe, of even our father’s death. And nightly, while I patted our mother’s forehead with a cold and damp cloth, I hoped they would burst through the front door, full of stories. But alas, they never came.
I begged the local doctor, and he examined my mother as a bit of charity, for I had no money to give him. I stood anxiously behind him while he put his ear to her breast and listened to her heart. He took out a few tools and examined them in the weak moon light bleeding through the window. He seemed frustrated and impatient. I brought him a glass of brandy, but he merely smelled it and placed it beside his bag of instruments before requesting his coat.
“What…” I was worried he would leave without saying a word, so I rushed to him and grabbed his shoulder, “Please sir, what do you think is wrong?”
He stopped with his hand on the door, the other wiedling his bag, and looked at my hand with disdain, “You call me down to examine your mother on the night of my dead daughter’s birthday, and for what? He looked out a nearby window at the cloudless night, and spoke as if his words were not aimed at me, “Do I not deserve time to mourn those who I’ve lost like everyone else?”
I was taken aback by his sentiment, for to me his issues were all a mystery. I had only thought of myself when sending for him hours ago. My mother’s condition was worsening, and I feared greatly that each passing moment might be her last. “Sir,” I said, “I had no idea that today was of such importance to you…”
He interrupted me, “No, of course not.” He let out a long breath through flared nostrils. I could see his muscular jaw clench, “And I suppose it is wrong of me to place such a grievance on a simple man like yourself, ” he struggled internally, “ But to be called out here, and to look at your mental mother’s condition nonetheless,” he opened the door and a great breeze from outside blew open his coat, “She is not sick.” He stepped outside, and I chased him, grabbing his hand.
“But sir, she won't leave bed, and she barely talks. Her skin, you saw it, she’s practically a corpse.”
He then flew at me with anger, pinning me against my poor home, “Listen here you puke! I’ve spent my entire life serving the people, helping the sick. I’ve seen life leave the eyes of many, so listen when I tell you that your mother is faking her condition to get out of work. She is nothing more than lazy, and you’re nothing more than a fool.” He let me go and stepped into his carriage, disappearing into the woods toward the city where he lived.
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and then Add to home screen.