I hated hospitals.
They reeked of sickness and death.
They felt cold and empty.
They were filled with fake smiles and lies.
"Everything will be fine," "Don't worry."
This hospital seemed even worse than most. It was a hopsital especially for cancer. I passed rows and rows of people and all I could think was that most of them would die soon.
My grandparents led me up to where my dad was, I was in sort of a daze. I wanted to see my dad, but I was also scared to.
I didn't even know if he would remember who I was.
We turned a corner, and there he was.
He was there, as in his body was, but I could tell straight away that his mind wasn't. He looked at me blankly, he didn't know who I was. He didn't know where he was, why he was there or who anyone around him was.
His left eye was swollen, huge and blackened.
I stood staring in horror, unsure of what to do or say. I grabbed my brother's hand to comfort him as well as to comfort myself.
He began to heave and my mum ran for a sick bucket, as my dad was being violently sick I pulled my brother around the corner, away from the horrid specticle. Soon my grandparents came and ushered us out, back to the car and back to their house.
We sat in silence the whole journey home.
The emptiness grew even bigger that night.