Magnus
The hospital looked hazy, and the light was slowly fading from my eyes. I was physically tired and emotionally drained from the events of the past few weeks; it had taken so much from me and was threatening to take my father's life away. I sat on the waiting chair in the lobby of the hospital, watching the doctors and nurses move around swiftly, carrying out their duties.
A janitor walked towards me; she looked like an older woman in her sixties; her jet-black hair was tied in a bun. She placed her right hand on my shoulders and smiled when I looked up.
"How are you?" She asked in her voice, which sounded like it was made from chirping birds and butterflies flying in a meadow. Her smile was so infectious I found myself smiling almost immediately.
"I'm not doing very great, but I'm sure it'll be fine," I replied, still smiling sheepishly.
