No Progress At All

Ernie tried harder and harder to talk. He just ended up giving himself a sore throat from the strain.
Hungry. He thought, and got up from the bed. I have to be back before Miss Dreyer comes. When the little hand is on the ten, and the big hand’s on the twelve. He warned himself. Miss Dreyer was his speech instructor.
Ernie wandered around the hospital’s white halls. They smelled of blood and death. He hated it. He climbed into the elevator, along with a few nurses, and a man with his pregnant wife.

He got off on the 4th floor. Maternity Ward. He watched the babies in their basinets, and wished he could hold them. I was never that small.

Hurrying, Ernie made it back to his room just in time. He waved at his instructor, and she eyed him suspiciously. “Ernie, try to say ‘hello’.” She asked.
“Ahl.” He strained.
We’ve made no progress. Miss Dreyer wrote in her notebook. No progress at all.

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