by Steppen Sawicki
He had been inspecting the hospital for four days, speaking with the sick and dying children who had no family to come visit them as they lay in their sterile white beds. He had listened to the ancient nurse and caretaker as she sang to the orphans each night. It was a strange song, soothing but also somehow disturbing. It reached deep inside him, touching the edges of his mind like a faded memory.
And it was strange how his clothes seemed to be one size larger than a few days ago, and how he had developed a persistent cough.