"I have love in me the likes of which you can scarcely imagine and rage the likes of which you would not believe. If I cannot satisfy the one, I will indulge the other."
- Mary Shelley, Frankenstein
Somewhere deep in the crevices of earth, pacing upon its piles of dirt and decomposition, walked a lovebird, brokenhearted. He had met a beautiful swan just weeks before and he felt joy for the first time in a while. Feeling as though God was on his side, still having an ounce of hope left in his agnostic mind. This swan, he hit it off with her, bat to baseball. He had bought her dinner with some of his leftover recreational money, held open doors, she was his wake-up call after eight consecutive rejections. But by the time week six had arrived, an arrow fired through his soul with those crushing words. "You're being way too nice." And before he knew it, she was up and out of that diner in seconds.
Sherm's door flew open, the strength leaving the harshest scratch into its paint, but that was the least of his concerns. This one rejection wasn't the first bad thing to happen to him all year, but it surely was the apex of his worries. Being laid off from the best job he could've imagined having at his age was but a minor, floating piece of paper in a sea of garbage bags to him. Maybe it was due to his poor conduct when he was alone in the back of that building? Sherm had always bickered and grumbled to himself whenever he felt like he was alone, never taking the surrounding area into question, but he tried to put those feelings aside. For this one woman. For the lovely Odette.
But amiability didn't guarantee. "It's fine," he shuddered with a squawking voice. "One's fine, it'll be o-kay!" His teeth bared into a wide, cracked grin, his eye twitching violently as he rummaged through his drawers for the pill. There the bottle lay on its side, the label calling out to him, no shout to speak of. After consuming one, he didn't quite feel anything yet. He understood that things take time and work, especially medicine, but there was no care to be had within his soul at this very moment. He swallowed another, and another. He had taken two before in one day, so it should be okay, he thought-
BEEP!
Sherm's eyes shot open. Before he could come to terms with what he was feeling, he had woken up in a hospital bed. His eyes were still incredibly bloodshot, and from the looks of it, a blood vessel must've popped from the accumulated self loathing. In spite of that, they still worked as they should, meanwhile the rest of his body was weak as a twig on the ground. He saw a blurred figure towering above him that he could hardly see, alongside one random black mass in the back. Must've been his coat, he pondered, with the nibble of cognitive thought he had left.
Some of the blurs were beginning to whittle away, and he would be greeted with the tall stature of a crow in nurse's attire. That black mass blended in with the rest of the blurred walls alongside everything else up against it. Sherm's entire body creaked and shivered as he tried to arise, folding his upper half forward. The nurse was quick on her feet to gently push him back down.
"I can't let you do that." She sighed, lowering her voice in hopes that he'll freak out less. "You really need to stay put. The state you're in is... I won't lie, it's awful. Christ, be glad we had that AED on hand."
Sherm's head tilted to its side, an eyebrow raised. "I-I had a heart attack?"
"Worse, cardiac arrest." The nurse cleared her throat, skimming through her clipboard. "Opioid overdose, with oxycodone being the catalyst. Your heart's wiring failed, and looking back at your last checkup, you had very high blood pressure as is. You're lucky to even be blinking right now."
Great, yet another problem on Sherm's already long list of problems. He gripped onto his heart, feeling the slightest palpitation from what he had just heard. Realizing her mistake, the nurse would rub her forehead. "Show me your hand, please." His already clenched, winged fist unfurled, and her touch grazed his palm. Surprisingly, he felt some form of calmness overtake him. It was as though he had no reason to be afraid with her around, despite her poor choice of words just a few seconds ago. A frown drooped over her beak. "God... you're shivering."
"Well, what were you expecting? I nearly croaked- ergh, ow." Merely broadening his tone was enough to make Sherm's back cramp. The nurse took a few glances back at her clipboard, carefully choosing her words this time. "We're going to be running a blood test or two, an electrocardiogram, and I can assure you that you'll be well fed for the time being. None of us know how long you'll be here, it could be hours or months from now, but I believe you'll be out of here sooner with enough elbow grease."
"If you want my advice? I'm gonna need you to- and I can't stress this enough, I need you to try, just try to rewire the mindset until then. I know it's not easy, but you're going to have to trust me. Continuing to tell yourself that something inevitably worse will happen won't fix it. Do you understand me?" With the demeanor she gave off, it almost seemed like this random nurse lady wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt. Sherm wondered how that could've been possible. He did just meet her, after all.
With one last head turn, and her finger pointing to the button on his bedside in case he needed assistance, the woman left. Good thing Sherm caught a glimpse of her nametag when she was up close: Florence. What a name for a bird commonly associated with the end.
—
That two-hour nap he took certainly didn't do Sherm very many favors. He awoke with crust in his lids, his body weaker than it was the last time he was up. Despite the crust, it didn't completely sever his vision from reality. It was still the same hospital room he slowly recovered in, same picture frames, same old furniture, yet there was one thing he laid eyes upon that he didn't quite recognize. Something that admittedly gave him quite the chill from how unfamiliar it came about to him. At the end of his bed sat a freakishly tall, hooded whatsit. He couldn't tell for the life of him what it was supposed to be, what its sex was, let alone its motive. Was it a man, a woman? Could it have been Odette coming by to check in on him? And if so, why would it be her if she wasn't that interested? Where was she when he first woke up? Maybe she could've been the one to rescue Sherm as he lied on the floor, a weepy and foamy mess?
But then, a thought bubbled up. If it is her, why isn't her bill curved? This "person's" face was long, pointed, and hardly recognizable. If its the shade from their hood, it must be covering their visage rather well. Sherm would deeply inhale, speaking out to the figure with his hand over his heart, just in case his nervousness caught up to him from this one encounter.
"Are you visiting?" No answer. Just the thing continuing to sit frozen solid amongst the lukewarm AC. "Do I know you, miss? Or, erm, sir? Was that rude?" Still no answer, but it did give a shaky, breathy exhale back. He didn't know why, but Jesus, did this thing come off as a threat just by sitting there. Sherm tried to get its attention. Waving his wing didn't work. Whistling didn't work. Asking for it to say his name, though? While he didn't get a verbal response, the hooded tilted its head down, and panned its gaze to the right. As if it were somehow embarrassed to speak.
That alone had Sherm's hand holding down the button. Florence came stepping in without a moment's notice. "Need some help?" Sherm's hand slowly arose, and pointed toward the thing with a crooked finger. "Could you tell.. tell, um...?" Florence could only shrug as she inspected the area he pointed at, stepping closer to the seats to validate her concerns. Then, what she said in return made his heart sink. "Tell who? I don't see anyone."
Nothing but the noise of the rumbling AC overtook the room. Seconds between them felt like an eternity.
Sherm stammered, snickering from the feigned embarrassment. "Shit, sorry! I can hardly see with all this sleep." In a half-baked attempt to ensure that everything was just peachy, he'd grip onto his shirt and rub out his eyes. Good thing he got himself a nap in, he thought, or else he wouldn't have had very much of an excuse to give. Still, Florence could only shake her head and hope that this was only a mistake on his part.
"Dinner's at five. If you're not in the mood, eat it slow. You still require sustenance."
"Fair." T'was the only word Sherm could upchuck before she left him alone yet again.
Minutes passed, and a tray would be placed on his lap by another nurse as he stared off into space. Fried fish with a side of collards and mashed potato. The fish, it vaguely reminded him of the olden days when he still lived with his parents. It's been such a long, grueling time and he hasn't cared since, but they used to keep him away from seafood. Specifically seafood, nothing else. Starting off as a toddler, they told him blatant lies, such as he couldn't eat it because he would turn into one, or that he'll be cursed, something or other. When he became adolescent, they dropped the lying and simply stated that they would tell him later. Of course, later never came, and Sherm eventually scrubbed that from his head the more he aged.
With no answer ever being given, he was still pretty damn picky about what he ate. Should he at least try it?
"Fish first."
What sounded like a mix of both a male and female voice startled him. And no one else seemed to be in the room... but that hooded thing. "It's good for you. Very good." A droplet of sweat trickled down its blackened, shaded face, but Sherm could hardly notice something that small. He spoke back to the figure, unintentionally sounding a bit too sarcastic. "Didn't think it wasn't."
"Try it then." It uttered with an exhale, twiddling its fingers in a nervous fashion. Why does it want him to eat the very thing his parents tried to prevent him from touching back then? Perhaps it wants him to get better, to be able to step out of the hospital earlier than he'd expect to be let out. Then again, Florence's advice also merged with that idea. Perhaps it is time for Sherm to have a change in his mindset, and this could be where it begins. With one pick at his plate, he'd cut off a piece, open wide, and-
"NO!"
Before the meat could touch Sherm's beak, Nurse Florence immediately snatched the fork from his grasp. The crow looked perturbed, like she somehow knew about the distastes his loved ones had, although that wasn't entirely the case as he would soon find out. Behind her, taking nervous exhales in the doorway stood a sparrow, that same nurse who brought him the food to begin with. Florence turned to face her, eyes shooting daggers into her soul. Just as the sparrow was about to apologize, her work partner spat quietly through gritted teeth. "Back off. Now." The foaminess of her voice stung like venom, prompting the shorter bird to step away.
Florence wasted no time putting his dinner away, and rushing over to the other side of the room to write a note addressing the problem. Meanwhile, Sherm's face twisted in confusion. "What's going on? Nurse?" The lady that had just comforted him hours ago jerked her body around in a confronting manner, but upon realizing she is currently in charge of his life, she'd take a 4-7-8. "There was a mix up. Your past records were misplaced, someone got the wrong room number, and... you almost ate something you shouldn't have. I'm sorry, I really am." Sherm's mind was in shambles from that comment. What could possibly be wrong with that?
Florence, however, could sense the puzzlement from his heavy breaths alone. "You don't know? You don't know that you're allergic?"
"Allergic?! What the fuck?!" He shouted, his heart palpitations not doing him any favors. The crow standing before him would cover her beak and rush over without hesitation, trying to keep him still enough to listen. "Relax, Sherman, you need to relax. Do you remember what I said?"
Rewire the mindset. Those words still echoed in the tunnels of his tired mind, and paired with her reassurance, it certainly did help. A part of him still did beg to get out of this hospital already, but perhaps he does have a guardian angel to look up to for the time being. He'd take after her 4-7-8, four second inhale, seven second hold, eight second exhale. Two times. Three times, and he'd slowly be pushed into lying down.
"S-sorry," he muttered. "Rewire... the mindset. Rewire the mindset, I know."
"Good... good." Removing her hand from his shoulder, she reassured. "I'll bring you your plate. You have my word this won't happen again."
And off she went, leaving him alone with the hooded figure she apparently couldn't see. He knew by then there must've been some kind of ghost sitting before him, but Florence would probably think he's nuts for thinking that. Maybe that's why it pressured him into eating the fish.
Maybe it knew.
—
Days turned into weeks, and life was getting increasingly hard for the bedbound Sherm. And it was especially hard trying to "rewire his mindset" with this guest of his around.
Two days ago, it loomed over his bedside. To intimidate him? Maybe remind him that it's going to be there for a while, he guessed? The day after that, it continued to loom, and without warning, it tried to "grab" his face. Sherm lost his cool when that happened, almost screaming the room down even, yet all he could do was let out the quickest yipe when he realized: he felt nothing. Its hand went through his face, the taste of feathers straying away from grazing his tongue, reminding him of a simulation with no hit detection. Was he inside of a hospital room anymore, or was he dreaming?
His concerns worsened when Florence stepped into the room, and continued on with her care as if nothing was happening right in front of her. He'd be left frozen in fear in and out, but whenever she asked if something was wrong, Sherm would always brush it off with any sort of excuse in the book. He's cold, he's tired, perhaps he's just sitting and thinking. Lying was harder with a hand jammed inside of your face with no feeling. Nevertheless, she'd believe him everytime, donning a smile and being the alright actor he is.
He couldn't tell her about the hooded thing, not now and probably not ever. Otherwise he'd never leave.
Then came Saturday, February 14th.
Sherm awoke yet again, to the thing towering above him. Just as he expected, he still couldn't see its face in full, not up close or far away. This time, he was half scared, half irritated, his heartbeat speeding up by an extra two bumps. With bated breath, Sherm grumbled.
"Why can't you talk to me like a person?" No answer. "Why are you doing this to me? I don't know you." No answer yet again, doing all but calming down the overdosed.
One last question shot out of his throat into a fast-talking bark. "Whatdoyouwantfromme?! Why me?!"
Silence befell the room for the hundredth time these past five weeks. In fact, there was so much silence that it felt unreal. The hum of the air conditioner present no longer. The figure broke its silence, a faint velvet blush painting its beak, and the next sentence from its jumbled mess of a voice had his heart between his jaws.
"You, Sherman. I want you."
His eyes widened, his body dripping buckets of sweat and pheromones, only attracting the hooded one in further. The room slowly began to be swallowed in shadow until the two were in an abyss of nothing. Yet his heart continued to pound. Desperate for this to be a dream and nothing more, Sherm shut his eyes, repeating her advice in his head.
Rewire the mindset. Rewire the mindset. Rewire the mindset- wait, why could he hear his brain? "The incident on your first day wasn't my doing, as you may be well aware by now. But I needed to lie, much like you've been. Wouldn't you understand?"
"Life is so boring downstairs... my love." The sounds of sludging meat squelched in his eardrums, a cacophony so disgusting he could puke up his last two meals. He didn't want to know what it was, but the noise was tempting.
It continued. "I only ever lead the dead to where they should go. The world beneath me doesn't call, the rewarders above don't come for a visit. Knowing I am above theirs, they brush aside my efforts even when I am perched before them." The squelching sound multiplied by five.
"Sherman, there are seven billion faces above dirt. Faces of the greedy, prideful, arrogant... I gawk at yours. It has always been my favorite. In some instances, I look up, wondering what a lovebird is without a mate, and cry for you. Feel for you." His heartbeat multiplied by four, the squelching by ten, every noise exploding with a temptation almost unbearable. Keeping his eyes shut would only worsen it, and he couldn't take it anymore. His sight would be greeted to the world surrounding him, a world reduced to a mere Valentine's gift.
A gift from Death itself.
Still beating hearts dangled from the ceiling by strings in the now windowless, doorless hospital room, all differing in size. The walls oozed with oil, its darkness rivaling vantablack. The once comforting picture frames and paintings on the wall now consisted of moments in his life taken from behind a corner, Death's eyes acting as its own personal camera. The bed he laid within had now been draped with hundreds of feathers, almost as inked as the walls were. Sherman would've vomited right then and there, but he choked back, afraid to paint Death's canvas any further.
From where he sat, he could finally see Death's face. Its lifeless eyes, sagging with gunk and rot, drooped down to the corners of its huge, pointed beak, sharp enough to stab through the toughest of skin. Its dimples would curl up just a little, forming the vague shape of love.
"This wait has been gruelling enough. There's a reason I want you dead." Death's unfeathered, gaunt hands gripped onto its cloth, opening to reveal its equally featherless, rotten, tattered body, the right side of its chest having a haphazardly stitched cut. It reached inside, and with one tight pull, out came its heart. With Sherm's initials carved in.
Now firmly grasping with both hands, quivering with excitement, the proposal would finally be made.
"Sherman Wailer Bryant... take me as yours forever."
Teary-eyed, Sherm's beak unbuttoned, his core bursting out of his chest, ready to give out. "NURSE!! NUUUUURSE!!"
—
Sherm would be suddenly shaken back to reality by Florence's hand. The room surrounding him went back to normal, the window and door no longer invisible. Yet even with Florence in here, the raven stayed as always, seated near the end of his bed, face covered. The nurse spoke, frantically. "Sherman!? Sherman! Talk to me!!"
The lovebird gasped for air, redid the 4-7-8, but it was all for naught. "F-florence?" Speaking her name was the one therapeutic relief he had now, his face still wet with tears. It didn't surprise her knowing that her nametag was right there for the looking, but Sherm? This is the first time he choked up her name since he got here. Florence replied with a chill in her tone. "Florence what, Sherman!? Everytime I come in here, you look afraid to have me in the same room! Tell me what's wrong, I'm begging you! If it's my fault, I want to know that it's my fault! You can open up to me, I don't care if I get addressed, or fired for it, or if I just started this fucking job and you're my first-!"
"IT'S GETTING HARDER TO FOLLOW YOUR ADVICE, FLORENCE!"
"..."
Tears pooled into a river between them, with the face of that raven, blanketed with rot, flashing in his psyche. His heartbeat slowed ever so slightly the more he trailed. "I'm trying, I'm trying and I'm trying to think positively about this! I'm not as focused as you! I'm not just scared of being kept here, I'm scared of leaving too! I'm scared I'll go back to what I was! I'm scared that I'll die! I'm scared that, that-"
A pause. "I'm scared that I'll never see you again."
"Me!? Quite a few times I scared you on accident, and you almost died in the first week, why do you want me!?"
"That wasn't your fault-"
"BUT WHY?! WHY ME?!"
The lack of self-confidence on her part prompted Sherm to spill the rest of the guts he had left. "Because I love you, Florence. Don't... don't put me in a psych ward, please."
"..."
The two had very little left to give. What else was there to provide after those three words? I love you. For the crow, it was like a lightning rod that struck her into regaining her self compassion, yet for the lovebird, all he could do was hope and struggle some more. It was both torture and a release for poor Sherm. However, upon speaking those words, the raven lifted up its head. He noticed from the corner of his eye, that it never cried, spat, yelled, gave any word of rejection back. All it did was stand up, before walking out of the door that Florence came through, its eyes never taken off of him until it turned the corner. It never returned that night.
Just as Sherm was about to wonder over where it could be going, or what its future plans were, Florence broke the tranquility with a sigh. "I'm going to tell the office that I'll be spending the night. For you. You won't be alone this time." The lovebird would've thanked her, but his brain had been scrambled like a pan of fried eggs. He didn't know whether to be frightened, content, or neutral anymore, but he could certainly say that his exhilaration was winning by a bit.
"By the way, I was kind of on my way over here already before you called. You're being dispatched tomorrow."
Sherm gave a small grin in return, his heartbeat back to normal. "Do you think we could exchange numbers before I leave?"
Florence affirmably clicked her pen in one hand, her notepad in the other.
—
A month has gone by since Sherm had been checked out of the hospital.
Things weren't perfect of course, as no one really visited him or called, but he was pleased enough now that his newfound significant other gave him a chance. With his parents having breathed their last six months ago, in came Florence's family to help him feel welcome. His new job for the time didn't pay as well as his old one did, but he didn't mind climbing up a few flights to achieve more than what he had. Florence had taken him on quite a few dates, from mini golfing to fancy restaurants.
With the dough her family tree was rolling in, Sherm was surprised by her self-deflation earlier. Money didn't define her feelings, and she still apologized en masse for her "attitude" in the hospital. Whenever something new, confrontational, or unpredictable came her way, she would always trudge through rough terrain trying to handle it. That hospital was just one of the many instances, one that she truly thought would fix her social skills.
Regardless, they loved each other to the moon and back. They were content with each other's company and managed to fulfill their needs rather well. Maybe if they're committed enough, they could continue their bloodline.
However, with all of that in mind, Sherm still couldn't shake off his dread for the worst. He hoped that he'd be with her 'til death do them part, until one of them kicks the bucket or someone takes after them. But if that were to happen, someone somewhere could be waiting.
That someone with the love-shaped face. Stepping out, hinting to nothing more.
And with that came a whole new, agonizing wait.
Written by LafawndaPasta
Content is available under CC BY-SA