Thin Lines

"The creature’s spine, shattered again.

Vultures take note. It tries to crawl

across golden sands,

stagnancy is its overseer.

It writhes and curls in pain,

lifeless burlap clings to fur.

Scavengers move

with such great haste,

no empathy

for a fractured frame.

How long will I lie here,

braying into dust and heat?

The vultures circle,

I am not yet dead.

Bone pickers have patience."

Dr. Subtain removed his glasses and sat them on the end table.

"Are you the camel, Ree?"

Ree shifted in her seat, refusing eye contact with the well meaning doctor. Subtain continued, knowing he would not receive an answer.

"The creative writing instructor brought this to me this morning. She was rather concerned about the tone of your poem. With your discharge scheduled for tomorrow, I have to say I share her concern. Out of the weeks I've come to know you, you haven't shared much. Though your pain is evident."

Silence.

"I've been in contact with your aunt. She filled in some gaps for me. About you. Your mother. She also mentioned a close friend of yours that's been inquiring about your status. They're all very excited to have you home."

The young woman shifted again, this time to face the doctor. She pulled her sleeves over her wrists and looked him meekly in the eye.

"You are valid in your fear and heartbreak. Most who come through these doors are also facing fear and heartbreak. But you, Ree, have what many don't. You have a group of people who love you, who want to see the best for you, and will do whatever they can to keep you safe. You’re not in this world alone. You wouldn't be here if you were. "

Ree watched quietly as the doctor pushed out his chair and reached into a drawer in his desk. He pulled out a blue folder thick with documents, opened it, and continued to speak.

"I want to discuss what discharge looks like for you. By no means is the end of your care, but we want for you to take the time to heal in your own environment. Here's a list of medications I'm going to send you off wi...."

The doctor's voice faded out. Ree’s eyes darted between the stark white paper and the doctor’s lips, but his words failed to register. She was going home. Where her uncle assessed the cost of repairs in a water damaged bathroom. Where her aunt scrubbed at the crimson stains left in guest towels and favorite t-shirts. Kind smiles were not enough to absolve her guilt. The remnants of her damage lingered.