Even if it looks abandoned, it’s still a hospital; she still believes help will come.
In the corridor with set of chairs she sits, clutching her stomach. There’s a rush of blood between her legs—it won’t stop. Tears run from her eyes and down to her cheeks. She’s with no one at this time of midnight—all alone in a winter Christmas.
“Please hold on. Please.” She cries as she tightens the hold on her young stomach. Someone’s whistling near the empty corridor. A contraction hits as she prays.
WORD COUNT: 92
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