Flux

than being in here mate. Apart from him: he fucking stinks,” using his thumb to signal over his shoulder to the next bed.
    Iain started to drift off, letting his friends talk amongst themselves. His leg was driving him insane with its itching and had given no respite since waking. He wished his parents could come and visit, but they had emigrated to the other side of the world six months previously. Shunning technology, he doubted they even knew he was hospitalised. He was lucky to get a quick call every month or so and even then it seemed more like they wanted to boast; diving with sharks, driving buggies over sand dunes, all while Iain was stuck in his dead end job on a dreary island with no stories of interest or great adventures to tell of.

    The old man in the next bed did indeed reek; a pungent smell of the unwashed. It wasn’t the hospital’s fault, the man refused to get clean despite constant complaints from other hapless souls who had the misfortune to share the ward with him. He didn’t seem to care either. One patient, pushed to the limit of his patience told him to his face, “Do yourself and all of us a favour will you, get a wash!” Only receiving a sullen grunt in reply.
    As much as Iain wanted to he was incapable of making a complaint. In his silent state he had to lie for countless hours enduring the gut churning stench. He noticed that the nurses had a daily routine. Every morning they would try and convince the man to wash, and every day he refused point blank. They were powerless to do anything else; Iain thought they should have the power to drag him away, kicking and screaming if need be and immerse him in the shower or bath, bringing blessed relief to the other patients. Instead, the malodour which permeated everything, even the glossy magnolia walls it seemed, had to be endured.
    Iain didn’t know why the man was in hospital, probably through drinking himself to death he thought. He did gather from snippets of overheard conversation that his name was Bert and he was unlikely to have long left of this earth. Rather uncharitably, Iain wished that Bert would die sooner rather than later and pollute the morgue with his filth, rather than inflict himself upon the realm of the living.

    It was the middle of the night and Iain couldn’t sleep. Lying awake, he pondered what the future would hold for him; whether he would make a full recovery and how the bills were being paid while he was stuck in the hospital and not at work. Someone on the ward snored loudly and the round clock on the wall ticked, painfully marking every second that passed. In the next bed Bert stirred from his sleep, sat up and farted loudly. It would have been funny had he not already been foul and repulsive. Iain braced himself for the fresh smell of shit and guessed by the churning wet sound that Bert had probably followed through into his pyjamas.
    The bed creaked as Bert swung his legs to alight. Iain hoped that the episode might force him to shower; surely no one could comfortably lie in their own liquid excrement. With eyes squeezed tightly shut, Iain pretended to be fast asleep, even holding his breath as the sound of shuffling feet approached his bed. There was no way on earth he wanted to engage the vile man.
    The old man stood over where Iain lay, stained pyjamas hanging loosely from his withered mass, blood and fluids running from the tubes which now dangled limply by his side. Foul, hot breath forced Iain to open his eyes as it caressed his face, the smell mixed with the odour from the skeletal body. Iain gagged as bony hands clutched at his throat; veins on the back which carried blood back to a shrivelled heart standing out like rivers on a rugged landscape. Yellowing bloodshot eyes bulged from the face, staring directly into Iain’s. A string of drool hung thickly from one corner of his mouth, swinging momentarily before falling under its own weight, landing on Iain’s top lip.
    He wanted to fight but was immobile. Utterly defenceless and constrained by his injuries, he tried to scream but found he could not, a muffled grunt the only sound to escape his lips. Thrashing his weakened body as much as he could, he couldn’t shake off the wretched old man. A spark of life showed itself in Bert’s eyes as he pressed his face to Iain’s and muttered the words, ‘Join us.’ The thick saliva which still ran freely started to take on a reddish tinge and as Bert let out his last rasping, stinking breath, the