The Forgotten

The gelatinous skin that was slowly hardening on her mashed potatoes was not helping to improve her appetite. Everybody kept telling her to eat, but what would be the point? The food wasn't enticing, she didn't have anybody to eat with, and well, she just wasn't hungry.

Gladys slumped in her wheelchair. Around her she heard the remnants of various conversations in the dining room. When she first arrived, she had tried to concentrate on the details. That was when she actually cared.

She could feel a pair of eyes staring at her. Slowly, she raised her head and scanned the room.  Sure enough, it was that nurse. She was watching her eat again. If she didn't make an honest go of it, the nurse would report to the nutritionist, and the nutritionist would want to "discuss options."  So, Gladys picked up her fork and stabbed a hole into the rapidly-solidifying mashed potato mountain.

Never in a million years would Gladys have guessed that this would be her fate. Back when Ma was in the nursing home, Gladys vowed that she would never end up in such a horrible place. Yet, here she was.

Daily, several times a day, she pleaded with God to just let her go home. There was no point in her existence, at least, that she could see. What, in the world, had she done to make God so angry that He just forgot about her and left her here?