cinnamon

It wasn't roses or sunflowers, Genevieve glanced at the far end where the smell of cinnamon was generated.

She laid down her head as she lay lost in thoughts, her mind eager to find out what had happened and where her lover was.

She quickly turned at the sound of the ringing of a cell phone that sat close by.

———

"Please sir, don't be in a haste to move or you might reopen your closed wounds." The woman said to me in a native tone.

I felt my facial expression begin to darken in anger while I struggled to keep my words tamed and filtered.

"Sir?." I asked her with an unhinged tone.

I watched as she glanced at me repeatedly in confusion, she flipped through the pages of the pad in her hand and then at me.

"Genevieve Rodrguez?." She called me by my name though it was a clear question which needed an answer.

"Yes, that's me." I replied with deem eyes, "Who admitted me into this hospital?." I asked her.