Guilt

(Inspired from Ingmar Bergman's film "Summer Interlude")

The old woman was dressed in black; her scarf had a rim of navy blue, but it was now too much faded in the surrounding black. I was only crossing my way to the infirmary. I was engrossed in my thoughts, and never realised her presence, till she was suddenly in front of me, immediately facing me side-on. She looked at me strangely, her witch-like nose sniffed up the air, she looked at me with hate from the corner of her eyes, and then proceeded on.

I told her then in my dream the following night, "Why did you not speak to me? You know you are beautiful." She laughed cruelly, "Yes, everybody says so, up here. Tell me, what should I've spoken to you? Were you in a mood to listen to me? Now that you think you are nearer to me, at this time, you say so, but that time you only thought me a witch. Tell me, tell me I'm right."
I said, "I cannot recall what I thought of you, but how could it have been anything else? Here, let me take a picture of you, with that black crow behind you, on the tree. Ask him to shriek for me. I would love his open beak." She laughed again, "I do not have power over him, rather he has over me. Why, do you still think animals as dumb as you used to?"

The bell clashed, I woke up. Sunlight was pouring in, the sheets were all removed, and the doctor had come to replace my plaster. I looked around with disbelief. In the next bed I found a man. Yes, I thought, I had seen him before. Yes, he had told me he was a watchman, of what I forget. A young man with family to look after. Then I suddenly heard a loud wail from the next bed. Before I could hear it, I had already listened for it and knew it. It was a young, healthy baby crying for his milk. A lusty cry.