Fran was allocated the new arrival in Bed 6. Despite the handover she was unprepared for the stench that filled her nostrils on entering the cubicle. He lay, unconsious, in a foetal position. The pores of his skin black with inground dirt.
“He stopped washing two years ago.” A middle-age woman spoke, “He used to shower every day then every second day. When his shoulder froze, once a week. When Mum died the dirty language started and he stopped altogether.
The monitor unexpectedly flat lined. The woman begged, “Please don’t save him.” Fran knew either way she’d have to wash him.
Thank you to Rochelle for hosting Friday Fictioneers and What’s his name for the photo prompt.