"Pervert Hospital" episode 13: Stories can start from anywhere. <Creative Award 2025 #Work Novel Category>

episode 13: Stories can start from anywhere.
-last episode-


"Stories can be started from anywhere.
--that's what life is, isn't it?"

These are the words of a patient I love dearly.

5:30 AM. I take a small trash bag from the corner of the hallway, quietly open the heavy door, and step outside. This is not a nurse's job.

The cold wind feels good. My bangs flutter softly. I love the sky at this ambiguous time when night turns into morning.

Honestly, it's tough to be cooped up in the hospital all night. Sometimes I encounter a cockroach at the trash collection point and scream "Eek!!" in a frenzy, but that's also a spice to wake me up.

The morning glow is beautiful beyond measure.
The colors are monochromatic and truly simple. Just when the indigo blue seems to fade, morning arrives. Surprisingly, it happens in the blink of an eye.

"Let's go."

6:00 AM.
The time Kanako-san wakes up.
The time when Kanako-san can be Kanako-san. I always visit her room at this time.

Kanako-san has dementia. She forgets recent events immediately, and sometimes she has delusions or hallucinations. She can even get physical. Sometimes she excretes on the floor and draws pictures with her hands.

6:00 AM.

She often returns to the state she likely loves the most.

Knock, knock, knock.

"Good morning."

I greet her and take her temperature.

"Which chapter shall we start from today?"

I ask her while tidying up her bed. Kanako-san was originally an editor at a major publishing house. She was a brilliant editor who produced numerous hits in an era when there were only male editors.

At this time, Kanako-san traces her own memories of being an editor and continues writing her autobiography.

Dementia has a symptom called agraphia. She cannot write characters. She writes the same radical of a kanji over and over again, and she cannot complete even a single character, let alone a word.

Kanako-san speaks beautiful Japanese in a relaxed manner. While repeating the same words over and over.

"Life is my own story. I don't even know where I am in the introduction, development, twist, and conclusion right now. But it's fun. Not knowing is fun."

Even while talking, the conversation is sometimes nonsensical, going back and forth as she tells the story of her own life.

Medically speaking, this is the time when the mind and body try to return to daily life. A relaxed morning arrives. In a calm and relaxed environment, there are times when dementia patients can spend their time relatively peacefully.

Just a few minutes.
The time I can spare for Kanako-san.
The time she can be herself.

"And this painting?"

A single sketch placed in the room catches my eye.

"An artist drew this for me when I went to France. They asked me, 'Please, let me draw you.'"

It was a beautiful profile.
Holding a book to her chest.
Her intelligent eyes are still sparkling even now.

Can a person's life be divided into chapters?
Days spent with illness always add unexpected pages. I am quietly touching such a moment. Without saying anything.

I summarize a few lines of her autobiography on a report sheet and hand it to Kanako-san. I must head to the next patient.

"Well then, the rest on another day..."

I turn my back to Kanako-san.

"Hey, wait."

I heard Kanako-san's voice in a clear tone that reached straight to my heart. I turn around instinctively.

"You know, you should just summarize the painful things beautifully in a few lines in the prologue. I'm sure your autobiography is beautiful."

I was surprised. My eyes welled up. I think she must have sensed something in me.

I am a nurse.
Perhaps I was caught up in some great sense of duty.
I want to become like her, with this profile. With those eyes that believe in her own story no matter what.

I bowed slowly and left the room.

"Sora, how was it today?"

There is someone who calls out to me.

It's Sato, the caregiver who always leaves the light, easy-to-carry trash for me. Someone who watches over me is always nearby, after all.

"It was beautiful today, too. Alright, let's go for the remaining 3 hours!"

I stretch out and speak.

"Bring it on!!!"

Sato is already walking ahead with a loud voice. I chase after that back, pushing the cart.

Let's summarize the painful things beautifully in the prologue. Stories can start from anywhere. Because that will become my own story.

Oh.

The fact that I am a fan of the books Kanako-san worked on is still a secret from her.


--The continuation of this quiet story is something I will live and write. Under my own name, which no one knows yet.

-end.

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