Such Stuff As Dreams Are Made On
Summary: This is all @feelmyroarrrr‘s fault.
Word Count: 3422
Summary: Cassie likes her job as a gerontology nurse, despite dealing with death on what feels like a daily basis. Her patients are lovely and even the ghosts are sweet at her workplace. Until one day they aren’t. Also, I suck at summaries. And love Shakespeare.
I pulled a pair of gloves on, and prepared the syringe, screwing the needle to the hub. Using the discarded wrapper, I snapped the top off the dark amber ampule, and with the filtered tip needle, drew the clear fluid into the syringe. It was a quick process, taking less time than the time it’s take me to describe it. Collecting the rest of my supplies, I headed down the hallway to my patient’s room briskly, slowing my steps as I approached the door. With a practiced and deliberate quiet, I slipped into the patient room, nodding and making eye contact with the husband sitting at the bedside. There were tears glimmering at his eyelids and as he blinked, a tear splashed across his glasses, and trailed down his cheek.
“She’s gone,” his voice broke with the words. “When you left the room she let out this breath and was just - ”
I slipped the syringe into my pocket and pulled the stethoscope from around my neck, skirting Mr. Madison’s seat. Once on the other side of the bed, I carefully slipped the stethoscope under her gown and listened for her heartbeat. After a full minute, I nodded, and checked her eyes for responsiveness before checking the time on my watch.
“I’m so sorry, Mr. Madison,” I offered. “Would you like some time alone before we call the doctor and the funeral home?”
“Please.” He managed to nod. I stopped and opened the window a crack before leaving the room.
“Ring the bell if you need anything, and when you are ready I’ll head back down,” I reassured him.
“Why did you open the window?” He asked. I paused and bit my tongue.
“Nurses are a superstitious bunch,” I offered with a self-deprecating laugh. “We all do it. It’s to make sure she knows she can go.”
“Go?” He asked.
“Wherever her spirit needs to be,” I replied with a shrug. “There has to be somewhere better than this room, and opening the window ensures she can get there.”
Mr. Madison tilted his head in appraisal, taking in every part of my appearance. “You don’t strike me as the religious type. But I’d be mighty obliged if you would help me offer a prayer.”
I tried to hide my discomfort with the idea and then nodded. “Of course.” I moved over to stand beside Mr. Madison, and he looked up at me.
“Can you say some words? I don’t trust myself,” he admitted, taking my hand in his. I nodded with a sigh.
“Our revels are now ended. These our actors,
As I foretold you, were all spirits and
Are melted into air, into thin air:
And like the baseless fabric of this vision,
The cloud-capp’d towers, the gorgeous palaces,
The solemn temples, the great globe itself,
Yea all which it inherit, shall dissolve
And, like this insubstantial pageant faded,
Leave not a rack behind. We are such stuff
As dreams are made on, and our little life
Is rounded in a sleep.”
It was the only thing I could think to say, knowing just how divergent my beliefs were from his and Marieta’s. He looked up and smiled. “Not much about Jesus, but that was nice,” he said. I smiled and squeezed his hand before excusing myself.