Gerd looked up from the rotten mattress, his eyes ratlike and wild. “Well?”

I shook my head. “Not until tomorrow.”

“Goddamnit. I told you we should’ve–”

“Should’ve what? Not smoked everything? As I recall, you were the one with the pipe in your mouth.”

He looked ready to fight, but then the rage drained out him. He slumped against the wall, beaten.

“Jesus, Gerd. You’re not crying, are you? We’ll get more. Just not today.”

“That’s not it,” he sobbed. “I just can’t do this anymore.” He raised his head, eyes shining. “This is not living. This is not life.”


Friday Fictioneers

10 thoughts on “Krankhaus

  1. Krankhaus, for those who may not know, is the German word for “hospital.” Literally translated, it is “sick house.”

    And this is a very sad story, indeed.

  2. Another sign of the times. It’s always been around but just a lot more now. I also commented on your other description of the symptoms of a diseased society as evidenced by its burned-out, broken-down abandoned buildings (and beleaguered population.)

  3. I’ve only heard Krankenhaus for hospital, but perhaps you had another reason to spell it that way? Addiction as a sickness. Sadly this “hospital” seems to have no nurses, doctors, nor course of treatment. Not far from the equally indefensible insane asylums of yore. Hope he gets out.

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