kostianaya . waiting for a miracle .
( @atlasleuth )
a hospital is the end of all roads, sudden standstill, the odor of death perfumed by sterility and sanitation. white; fluorescent; clean; all identical save for the false, obligatory logos pitching organizations and their deceptions regarding HEALTH AND WELL-BEING. an occasional success story painted on the cover, the rest of the failures swept under the rug for FRIENDS AND FAMILY to dust. john hates it here. john hates seeing helen here.
he walks stolidly, in no hurry to get to his DESTINATION (wherever that may lead). they make it feel so customary here, all the PET scans and the check-ups so normal; it’s something he will never adjust to. john wick will never truly know the anxiety-free feeling of not having a BULLET VEST strapped to his body, or a gun in his pocket. he had lived a life of jeopardy for too many years. and now he’s here with a domestic lifestyle, experiencing it with detached attention, watching his body suffer as he refuses it nourish or rest. with helen lying in that bed, he has no urge to even live.
the pack of cigarettes positions burdensome in his pocket, HALF-EMPTY from extended use. he only gives it reluctant attention when he’s outside of the facility, granted permission from a little RED AND WHITE SIGN. he doesn’t smoke. not usually. the sickness is an exception.
the sky is the no-color of smog and overcast. there’s the lingering feeling of eyes on him, EYES FROM ABOVE, surmising him as he elevates the lit cigarette to his lips. those are the eyes that watched him spill blood. a smoke break is miniscule to the payment he’s received for his wrongdoing. he inhales. he exhales. and he realizes he’s not in the universe’s line of sight anymore.
rather he’s the focal point of a younger girl’s stare. john doesn’t recognize familiarities, but she seems to identify him upon EYE CONTACT. maybe it’s the nicotine jumping him to conclusions, but it seems she has something to say.
❝what. ❞ spit it out.
a graveyard of rotted roses resides in her chest , all but BLOTTED OUT by exacerbated curiosity . she be a bundle of inquisitive nerves , inquiries finding her tongue before she parts her lips ; imbued within her bosom was the urge to reveal secrets , no matter what the cost . hazel gaze penetrates through armor , a knowing smile gracing her lips —— this is the beginning of the siren’s act , the FIRST STAGE of her play .
( does she send shivers up your spine ? does the SIREN’S GAZE capture your heart ? ) cherry stained petals part , a sigh leaving her lips as she takes a step closer ; marble digits go through strawberry tresses , straightening curls & pushing strands back behind studded ear . her mouth closes for a moment , then opens once more —— how to ask such a personal question without appearing tactless ? digits move to her satchel , unclasping it & removing a notepad from its depth ; flipping to an empty page , she clears her throat .
❝ ——————— john wick ? ❞
she allows the inquiry to linger for a moment , her eyes never leaving his face . pink tongue darts across her upper lip , wetting it before she speaks again . ❝ smoking isn’t the GREATEST thing to do , y’know , no matter how much pain you’re in —– i recommend breathing deeply , or maybe even looking at cute animal pictures . . . ❞ her voice f a d e s with each passing second , pencil pulled from her bag & pressed against the notepad ; quick movements are made , words written [ upset , going through immense stress . smoker . ] before she returns to him .
❝ uh , sorry about your WIFE . d’you think you’ll be able to answer a few questions , or shall i wait a moment for you to regain yourself ? maybe put out the cigarette ? ❞