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My short story, A Place with No One, Part I (only because of words limit)

I write for fun. Usually fragments, sometimes uncompleted stories, seldom, completed ones. But all in Chinese. I only write my diary in English. Shush. This is a completed story, And, it is in English. The most adventuresome part is, I know I am kinda of good at writing Chinese, to be a bit cocky, I got published once, but I would never know if I can possibly write English. Here is my story.
A Place with No One
I pulled the car by the side of the road and checked my hair in the rearview mirror. It was seven to ten o’clock in the morning. I rang the doorbell. Hearing the footstep behind the door, I hold my breath, as if waiting something unknown to fall on me.
“Oh you are here. Come on in. I just fed him breakfast before he fell asleep again. He is awake now.” Mrs. Brown inched back. I stepped in, nodding at her direction, passed the long corridor. My shoes were silent on the hardwood floor.
It was too warm in the room. The air mixed with smells of fabrics and sickness. I can’t describe the smell of sickness. If a person stays in bed in a room for a long time, there will be this kind of smell. Every room like this smells differently, but you would know right away. Mr. Brown reclined on his pillows, as usual, with eyes close and slightly open mouth. I kept nearer and told him today’s rehabilitation therapy starts. His pink tongue nestled between his bare gums, like an infant’s. I put my fingers on his wrist, watching his chest up and down to count his pulse and breathing rate. He laid his eyes on me for a second and closed them again. There wasn’t much difference between being awake or asleep of him. He had been in bed for a year after the cerebral hemorrhage. The pneumonia two months ago put him in this endless drowsiness. I did the rehabilitation therapy by moving his joints gently. For his age and condition, the aim of therapy is only to prevent the joints from being too stiff and the formation of venous thrombus in his legs.
During the therapy, I kept my eyes on his expressionless face from time to time to make sure he was not in pain. But I actually didn’t know whether he would have any expression at all. His still face was like a mask. All the vitality of him condensed into the hear beats. So his body could run like a machine while the consciousness gave way to the silent and numb metabolism.
To be continued;)

My short story, A Place with No One, Part I (only because of words limit)

I write for fun, usually fragments, sometimes uncompleted stories, seldom, completed ones, but all in Chinese. I only write my diary in English. Shush! This is a completed story, and, it is in English. The most adventuresome part is, that I know I am kinda kind of good at writing Chinese -- to be a bit cocky, I got was published once -- but I would never know if I can could possibly write in English. Here is my story.
A Place with No One
I pulled the car by to the side of the road and checked my hair in the rearview mirror. It was seven to ten o’clock in the morning. I rang the doorbell. Hearing the footsteps behind the door, I hold held my breath, as if waiting for something unknown to fall on me.
“Oh, you are here. Come on in. I just fed him breakfast before he fell asleep again. He is awake now.” Mrs. Brown inched back. I stepped in, nodding at in her direction, and passed through the long corridor. My shoes were silent on the hardwood floor.
It was too warm in the room. The air was mixed with smells of fabrics and sickness. I can’t describe the smell of sickness. If a person stays in bed in a room for a long time, there will be this kind of smell. Every room like this smells differently, but you would know right away. Mr. Brown reclined on his pillows, as usual, with eyes closed and mouth slightly open mouth. I kept crept nearer and told him today’s rehabilitation therapy starts started today. His pink tongue nestled between his bare gums, like an infant’s. I put my fingers on his wrist, watching his chest up and down to count his pulse and breathing rate. He laid his eyes on me for a second and closed them again. There wasn’t much difference between being awake or asleep of for him. He had been in bed for a year after the cerebral hemorrhage. The pneumonia two months ago put him in this endless drowsiness. I did the rehabilitation therapy by moving his joints gently. For his age and condition, the aim of his therapy is was only to prevent the joints from being becoming too stiff and prevent the formation of venous thrombus in his legs.
During the therapy, I kept my eyes on his expressionless face from time to time to make sure he was not in pain. But I actually didn’t know whether he would have any expression at all. His still face was like a mask. All the his vitality of him condensed into the hear beats heartbeats. So his body could run like a machine, while the consciousness gave way to the silent and numb metabolism.
To be continued;)