The smoking room

The airvent

I seat on my bed. I don't know what time it is. Mohammed should've come for my meds I think. But I'm alone. I've been alone for a while since time disappeared and the phone call.
The lights don't change. There is no sound. Except my breathing and heartbeat.

I don't move. Behind me, the moonlight shine through the tainted window. I realize everything got worse since I asked to change my room. Marge was right. I don't want to stay here.

I get out. I knock on the door in front of mine. There should be a patient here. Sleeping or watching TV. Nobody answers. Then I knock on the next door. And on the next. I start running and punching on the yellow painted surfaces. Up until the nurse's office. The large window gives me a view on it. The two desks. The computers. All the lights are out. I breathe deeply, my lungs burning. My body is not used to exercise anymore. I almost lose my balance as I push with all my remaining strength against the door handle. It should open. It's never closed, just in case.
The only sign of any activity is the glow coming from the screens. They face the wall, the blueish tint of the Windows background giving a chilling tone to the decor.

This can't be. It can't be. I must be dreaming. A horrible nightmare. I just don't remember going to bed. Maybe I even fell during my meal. I'm so exhausted, even right now inside the nightmare, that I slide against the door. When my legs touch the cold plastic on the floor, I start crying.

And then I hear it. A knocking. It comes from the end of the corridor. Still weeping, I struggle to get back on my feet. My body is like full of cotton balls. Everything turns, I'm losing myself. My vision distorts, both from the crying and the anxiety. For how long have I been sleeping?
I test the doors. The knocking doesn't come from them. It's like... inside the walls. I twist around looking up and down, completely lost.

« Where are you? » I scream. Then, a whining. And I found it. Those sounds come from the air vent. I take one of the chairs the nurses let in the corridor for us. Climbing it feels like reaching the top of Mount Everest. Black spots blur my vision and the taste of vomit on my tongue feels so real.

There is something. A shape in the air vent. I grab the sides of the vent, trying to pry it open. Lost cause. As my sweat runs down my too hot skin, the shape comes closer. Compressed in the small space, there is someone. I can hear the bones cracking, the flesh reaping. Their rasp breathing and their endless complaint as their body has been forced into something thrice too small to contain them. Their eyes almost popped out of their skull and they turn them to meet my disgusted gaze.

Mohammed. His almost dislocated jaw open and I can see no teeth. And instead of a scream, I hear the sound of my desperate knocking coming out of his bleeding mouth.