You'd bow your head in prayer and cross your delicate fingers in the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, but your faith was as empty as the hospital halls.
The lights flicker on and off. The bed is cold. Everything is dark.
"Do you think there is a God?" June asks.
June is 55 and schizophrenic. Is she talking to you or to the wall? Maybe she's talking to the invisible man she senses watching over her. Maybe she's talking to the dog that she thinks is there. It's your first night here, and June has already screamed 4 times, banged on the bed frame twice, and cried into her blanket once. You turn your head over and you're surprised to see her sunken black eyes staring into yours.
"No." You reply.
It's 11pm and really, all you'd rather be doing is sleeping in your own mattress, in your own comforter, in your own room- but no, instead, you're lying next to crazy old Chinese lady who went berserk last week and cut her hair into a lopsided bob.
You were raised in the church as kid. Your parents still make you go to mass on Sunday whenever you come home. You used to daydream while Father George or Father Zambito or Father O'Reilley preached on and on about gospels and angels and saints. You'd bow your head in prayer and cross your delicate fingers in the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, but your faith was as empty as the hospital halls.
"I don't think he likes that answer." June says. She fidgets in her bed, and maybe, you think that it's time for her to sleep, but then she starts crying, and now, you don't know what to do.
10 minutes go by and the sound of the ticking clock slowly overpowers June's minuscule whimpers and before you know it, you can feel her eyes staring into your soul through the dimly lit cell block you both call a hospital room.
"I know you don't believe in God, but if you're going to believe in something, you might as well put your faith in him."
"What are you saying? Can't you just let me go to sleep?"
It's silent for a few minutes. You can hear her breathing. You feel bad for yelling at her, and fuck, now you can't fall asleep because now you're all guilty.
"You don't believe in yourself."
You turn in your bed. "You don't know who the fuck I am."
"I know who you are. You are God. God is you. God is me. I am God. God is everyone and everything."
The clock ticks and ticks. You close your eyes and sink your head into a rock of a pillow.
The lights in the hall go off, and you hear the curfew bell ring.
"Believe in yourself." June whispers.