The Purple Patch - Missouri Valley College

Disposable Generation
by Jessica Manjarrez
Everyday, for one year, I watch the leaves slowly
change to reveal the seasons. My job as the carrier of medicine
never varies until I am assigned the nursing home.
After class I quickly slip into one of my four brightly
colored uniforms and drive the short three blocks to work.
I saunter into the little shop whose shelves are lined with
pills that promise to cure your disease. The array of pill
bottles reach from the ceiling to the floor and span the
entire building. The smell of leftover garlic pizza crust
and musty air fill my nose. My three female co-workers
greet me with enthusiasm and are happy to fill me in on
all the ornery customers. Hesitantly, I close the conversation,
knowing in the back of my mind where I have to go.
My brown Converse sneakers feel as though they are filled
with cement as I drag my feet out of the store with apprehension;
the nursing home awaits my arrival.
The ominous brick structure is situated behind
the main hospital buildings. It is tucked away like a dirty
secret. A few sparse shrubs are placed systematically to
make it seem as if life flourishes in this desolate place. An
illusion to the unsuspecting. I am wise to their trickery.
I know this place is a death sentence and the staff is the
executioner. They over diagnose and misdiagnosis in order
to pump their naive patient’s guts full of concoctions. Otherwise
the patients would realize the truth of their situation.
Death is always looming.
4628 is the security code that allows me access into
the building. My fingers are so attuned to this sequence
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