Ward 15 by Andrew Shephard
My friend, Keith, Kevin? You know who I mean. He helped me up from the floor and to his car. He drove me to the hospital. At the reception desk he told the computer to take good care of me and wished me a speedy recovery with a pat on my shoulder. I answered a lot of touch-screen questions and sat on chairs outside three different clinics. Bright lights were shone, images taken, blood extracted from both my arms by robotic machines. A grey-haired doctor decided I needed to be kept in for observation. I asked if he knew what was wrong with me. ‘The computer is reading your epigenome now. We’ll have your entire medical history – and future – in a minute or two. He invited me to sit in a wheelchair to be transferred to Ward 15 – a journey involving two lifts and a travelator, up, sideways, and up again. The view from my bed close to the windows of Ward 15 was spectacular. I could see the stars in the night sky in crisp detail all the way to the other side of the gala...