Ella

I stare at the clipboard in my hand, scanning the patient's chart, my fingers moving almost mechanically as I adjust the IV drip attached to his arm.

The sterile smell of the hospital clings to me like a second skin, the fluorescent lights humming faintly above. My patient, an elderly man with wisps of silver hair, is sleeping soundly. The soft rise and fall of his chest reassures me. I make a few more notes on the clipboard, my mind wandering for a split ...