by Phyllis Souza
— can hear the sounds of compressors from the refrigerated trailers.
Inside the hospital, legs dangle over the side of a bed. Feet search for warmth and find not a fuzzy throw but a cold tile floor.
Sickness seeps through skin, a foul fever, a runny nose, and choking on tasteless snot.
Lips crack, tears burn, head swims.
No one helps. Only the walls hear the death rattle from lungs gasping for air.
— it wasn't a hoax.
Too late. The party is over.