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"You don't know how it feels when your own hand is melting, fusing with your armor... KILLING you!"

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Rural Clinic Gothic

When you walk in, everything seems new. Welcoming. It sends shivers down your spine, which has been aching far too often as of late. The lights are bright, too bright for eyes like yours, and the sickly sweet smell caused by the mingling scents of disinfectant, artificial medicine and stale cups of coffee welcome you home. You're weary of the desk you work at, of the chair you sit on, and how you moved the keyboard to hide the russet stains beneath. You're weary of the unending gazes of patients who are long dead, who watch the living with a wanton hunger you know all too well.

Lastly, you're weary of the new receptionist who looks to you with eyes that are not quite dead, with a smile that's not quite stapled on with grit and bitterness. She doesn't understand what happened here before.

Unlike you.

This is a underfunded place of ghosts and death. But you know this, and welcome this. You are this. You share a smile with the doctor who passes you, brittle and knowing. You've been here since.... Since when? Since the start, perhaps. You don't remember anything else.

You've been tethered here for so long that the faint buzz of the old PC is as familiar as your own breathing. You know that in between rooms 3 and 4 there used to be a door, now sealed up and painted over in pretty white, where the old x-ray machines lie. You remember the reason why they had been hidden, the risks of what science's first attempt at machines meant for healing cost. You remember the decay, at least. Sometimes there isn't enough funding to make things safe.

You remember late nights sorting paperwork under the glow of a orange light. You remember the exposed wiring that used to go from the centre to the rooms like the branches of some unnatural tree. You remember the hiss of hydraulics and the creak of old operating table wheels, and the clatter of surgical tools dropped into bloody water at the end of a night stretched too thin, hours blending seamlessly until your reality becomes simply one suture after the other. You remember seeing your hands covered in blood in the morning. You remember the sense of accomplishment, and the disgust at your own nonchalance.

But why would you be afraid? Fear is inefficient. Fear has no place here.

With a sigh that moves no air, yet you feel anyways in your paper lungs, you glance at the new receptionist. Does she know that the skeleton of her predecessor now exists as the anatomical model in her favourite doctor's room?

No matter, really. She'll learn, like you did, like the ones before you did. They all assimilate into the role demanded of them, like some inevitable certainty. You remember when you tried to fight it, and how naive you were then. She'll experience horrors of her own, and then watch, compliant, as those in power bury them under shiny new renovations.

A smile tugs at your lips. It feels unnatural. Is it bad, you wonder, that you can't wait for this place to drain her dry, too?

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I don't even know if Tumblr even likes these styles of posts anymore but there's no harm in trying. I work at a rural clinic and the power went out due to a lightning strike a few months back. I was helping one of the nurses clean a room where someone had had stitches taken out and redone prior to the blackout. We worked by the light of our phones, as the backup generator was bust as well. The blood made it all pretty damn eerie.

Today's been a slow day so I figured I might as well act on the inspiration drifting thoughts can give. Enjoy!