1. Motherly Songs.

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River Kennedi’s tight curls glisten from the overhead white lights, pinching his caramel skin and low, taper-fade that stresses the chiselled appearance of his face. His eyes, like stone, blink when his chin rests against his hands atop the protective railing around the hospital bed. In that hospital bed was his mother, Rose Kennedi — still catatonic.

He regards her, covered under drab white linen, hooked up to the life-support machine. A dreadful sight, even worse than it appeared weeks prior when he last visited.

His mother was once so beautiful with hair as brown as pure honey, now just bland and filled with perspiration.

There was nothing more River hated than visiting Pearl Grove Memorial Hospital. Not for the sake of his loathing for medical facilities, but for his fear of losing his last remaining relative. It was a place of dread and a reminder of tribulations faced in the past and present.

River never saw her brown eyes that were once so filled with life again. For one terrible night one year prior, she suffered a terrible fate tragic enough to have led her to her own demise. Her skin is now pasty, like a cadaver on ice doused in perspiration. The only movement made by the various gauges and contraptions River couldn’t elect. Hooked up to her body, with the exclusive purpose of keeping her alive long enough to taste life once more, if ever.

The rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor seeps into River’s conceptions, agitating every thread of his being, like a malignant ebb of nausea.

“I don’t want my last words to be, I hate you, Mom.” River whispers, hoping that she could hear him, wishing that he could vent to her like he once did. “I should have been there for you.”

“James and I are still on this break. I believe it’s time for us to face the music of reality or romance.” River chuckles at his own delusion.

“Finding his father has become a fight for his attention these days. Can’t even figure out if I want to continue with him or end it before I bury myself in amorous torture.” He grins again, clamouring for better words. “I still haven’t gotten the email. I would think since they contacted me about the internship. They could at least let me down easy, but I’m confident I still have a shot.”

The door to the hospital room swings open with a creak, and River turns to face a tall, ominous figure entering with his draped coat over a pressed grey suit. Dr Andi Hasan presents himself, a man of Arabian descent in his early thirties, with a bearded face, and a little on the robust side—clothes clinging to his defined frame like a damp, white t-shirt.

“River. How are you today?” The doctor asks with an enthusiastic tone.

“Just as any other day, Dr Hasan.” River murmurs, motioning to his comatose mother with a nod of his head. He watches the man, almost scared of saying something that would give away his true mood. “Any progress?” River asks, but the divisive look on Dr Hasan’s face is enough confirmation for River.

“Just as any other day,” A languid sigh follows Dr Hasan’s words, which doesn’t instil the doom unintended.

River chuckles, not amused, but annoyed at himself. “I could have told you that since I come in here every other day and ask the same dumb question. I’ll just see myself out.” River proclaims, brushing past Dr Hasan, too deep in his own disgruntled thoughts, to notice that the man was trying to say something else.

“It’s always good to visit her, Mr Kennedi.”

“You didn’t call me River.” He stops, then turns to face Dr Hasan with a detached look in his eyes.

Noticing his own change of tone, Dr Hasan tries to fix it. “You have every reason to feel the way you do, but there will come a time-,” his words pause when River interrupts.

“I’m not ready to say goodbye, Doctor.” River tears his gaze away from him, glancing at his mother one last time before turning around to leave again. “Which is kind of weird.”

“I won’t call you River if you insist on calling me Doctor Hasan. We’ve known each other for a year, River. We spend time together every week in the break room.” The man chuckles and River shrugs, a slight smile twisting his lips upward.

“What do I call you?” He asks and the doctor peers at him, confused by the question.

“I-,” the man stutters, but River grins at him.

“What’s your name, doc?” River’s smile grows warm, entrancing even, and the man averts his gaze. “You said I didn’t have to call you by your professional name.”

“Andi, w-with an I.”

“Cool.” River smiles his megawatt smile, lightening the man’s mood. River smiles and turns away to leave a grinning Dr Hasan.

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