The dim hallway echoed with soft giggling. Even the night sky was hidden away behind a cloud of mystery. A deep fog drenched the landscape like a flood of vapor, making suspension more apparent than the moonlight. Gilda, a young, average looking blonde with a thin and small build, stepped shakily causing the candelabra in her left hand to quiver and rock as well. Another set of snickering rings in the cavernous halls, trickling down her spine like ice-cold water.
She regretted signing up for a job in a “mental rehabilitation facility.” Despite its name, it was no more than a looney-bin. More than just regretting her job choice, she regretted choosing night shift. At first, she thought it wouldn’t be a big deal. Just walk around the hallways at night and see if the patients are okay. Well, as “okay” as they could get being locked in a padded room all day.
The miniature built woman reaches the end of the hallway. There sits room 024. A room she had been told not to check. Tonight was different though, the day shift nurses reported that no one had done a daily check-in with this patient today as there was an incident with the patient in room 043 that required the entire staff body. Gilda was tasked with the normal nighttime check-ins but also a check-in with the patient at the end of the hall.
She knew little about the person in there, all she knew was their name. Cecil.
The soft, gentle knocks on Cecil’s door left a harsh silence. Behind the heavy, cold door that stood between the two, Gilda heard rustling. Faint, yet loud enough to resonate through the entrance.
“You can come in,” a voice of indiscernible gender meekly rings.
Slowly, and almost too cautiously did the door creak. Gilda stuck her head in very quickly, causing her light-colored bob to sway. She peered at Cecil, an androgynous young person. The patient looked at Gilda with a bit of intrigue and also apprehension. Their dark brown hair veiled half of their face, leaving the other side of their pale face bare. One piercing green eye could be seen, though they looked with such heavy intent, it was gentle and kind.
Gilda had never seen this kind of look in any other patient. All of the others here only had looks of pure despair, or of pure violence. Yet, her original apprehension had been replaced by curiosity.
“Hi, my name is Gilda.”
“Hello.”
There was a brief moment of silence, Gilda was lost in their eyes. “Um, is there anything I can get you…?”
The patient stares blankly at her. A loud scream is heard echoing from down the hallways. Another outburst from patient 008. Gilda decided to leave it for another nurse. She noticed a small sketchpad in the hand of Cecil. Unconsciously, she stares at it.
“I… I need more pencils. Colored ones.”
“A-Are you allowed to have pencils?” she snaps out of her trance almost immediately. Cecil nods and grabs a small cloth wrapping. They unravel the cylindrical fabric, revealing their limited collection of art utensils.
“I see. Can I ask why you need them?”
“I...I like to draw,” Cecil turns their attention to a tattered and messy sketchbook, with papers sticking out of it, making it look like an old book. Gilda smiles. She realized that the people here maybe aren’t that different. She flashes an even bigger, silly-looking, toothy smile. Cecil peers back at her and chuckles, giving a cheerful smile.
Mere minutes pass by, and Gilda returns with a small paper cup filled with pencils. She, mistakenly, left Cecil’s room open. She picks up the pace and returns to her patient. That patient was sitting on their padded floors doodling in the sketchbook. The soft, scratching sound of the graphite point against the pearly surface was like a quiet requiem to her ears.
Cecil continued to draw, shaping the graphite residue into a beautiful sculpture flattened. It was a picture-perfect capturing of their nurse’s face, down to the minutest pimple on her forehead, sloppily hidden by her bangs. Even the smallest dots and lines in her baby-blue eyes, even the scar slightly disfiguring the top of her lip.
The brown-haired, green-eyed Cecil stops suddenly, and looks up at Gilda with an open-mouthed, yet extremely focused look in their eyes. Just as suddenly and erratically, they go straight back to drawing.
She couldn’t stopped smiling.
“Why are you still here, Cecil? You seem very well.”
“I like it here. People…People like you are what makes this place better... better than…” Cecil trailed off as they leaned even more into their drawing of their, supposedly, well-liked nurse before them. Her face curled in distress, desiring to know more.
“Better than what?” concern rang apparent, more so than she wanted it to.
No response. They were far too occupied with neatly tearing the artwork out from its messy place.
“I’m done. Look at it,” they shove the paper into her face, barely leaving any room to actually see any more than the left eye of her drawn self. Although, she was more than content with just seeing that. She leaned back to get a better view and she was astonished. For the first time in a long time, she appreciated looking at her own face. A wonderful smile shining at her. After so many years of looking at it, it frowning back in response. Of so many years seeing a sad and broken face. That was the only reason she tried to work here, was to feel like she was making someone happy so she could feel happy about herself.
Cecil was content with where they were, so they could see the shimmering beauty of someone else. And thanks to Cecil’s perspective, Gilda, too, could feel contentment. A smile was all it took to brighten her view of everything. Maybe working here wasn’t so bad, maybe the patients here were better than her.