seven glass atmosphere syncopation
cracker door illumination ruination
Swoosh bump. Swoosh bump. The sound of the gliding door wavered in and out of Sandra’s hearing with an eerie, even syncopation. Swoosh bump. She wanted desperately to stop it, to cross the room and lock the door tightly so that it would never ever make that rhythmic sound again. Willingly would she have braved approaching the apparatus in the corner of the room and standing in its sickly green illumination to stop the noise. And she absolutely hated that machine. She was certain it affected the very atmosphere in the room; in the entire house!
She turned her head to look at the time. An old cracker rolled from her chin to hide between the blanket folds. How long has that been there? she wondered.
It was only seven thirty. Even after long hours of physical therapy and the large dinner she had just finished, she would be awake for another hour at least. A tall glass of red wine would do the trick, she mused. But there’s no way for me to get that.
She had always been fond of wine. And Shawn had taken advantage of that. He had used his extensive knowledge of them to woo and distract her. He had very nearly made her a drunk. But she had averted that fate. She had nearly avoided becoming an addict, too; nearly. But that bastard had gotten her with that. And so he’d caused her ruination. Now here she was confined to this damned hospital bed. She concentrated again on the swoosh bump of the gliding door. And in the ebb and flow of its rhythm, she practiced the curses she’d direct at Shawn during his morning visit. This time, he won’t mistake them for the ravings of an unhinged mind. This time, he will know that she speaks with determination.