A bedside bouquet blooms fresh, red and yellow, only for you.

Ignore the square machines humming under sterile plastic sheeting. Consider every brilliant petal a perfumed watchman, the spirit of those that yearn to hold you and bolster your withering hope.

The flowers plead, “Fight! You’re needed here with us.”

Andrew Bridgeman wrote this story. See more at andrewbridgeman.com.