I cursed the sterile white room where Ann died

As I sat by Ann’s bedside, holding her frail hand, I couldn’t help but feel anger rise within me. The sterile white walls of the hospital room seemed to suffocate me, reminding me of the impending loss of my dear friend.

Ann had been battling cancer for months, her spirit never wavering despite the grueling treatments and the pain she endured. But as I watched her struggle for breath, her fight seemed to falter, and my heart broke a little more with each passing moment.

The beeping of the machines echoed in the room, a constant reminder of Ann’s deteriorating health. I cursed the sterile environment that seemed to strip away her humanity, reducing her to just another patient in a long line of suffering souls.

I longed for a touch of color, a picture on the wall, anything to break up the monotony of the stark white room. But all I could do was sit and hold her hand, offering what little comfort I could as she slipped away from me.

As Ann took her last breath, I whispered a silent curse to the sterile white room that had been her final resting place. I vowed to never forget the emptiness of that space, a stark contrast to the vibrant life that had once filled it.

Ann may have left this world, but her memory lives on in the anger and grief that fills my heart whenever I think of that sterile white room. I cursed it then, and I curse it still, for taking her away from me in such a cold and impersonal manner.

Rest in peace, dear Ann. May you find warmth and color in the next life, far away from the sterile white room where you took your final breath.