"Happy Friday!" boisterous iterations ruptured the treen entrance agape. Spread the joy was the repetitious mantra, tallied to a greater degree when death lodged next door.

Though one of many, demise never dared tread the summit of its nails at a patient's strand related to your lineage. For Misty employed caretaking to shield the elder, arrayed in an elephantine gown swallowing their frail limbs, from harm's way.

Nursing their hellish fears, be it the gnarly ghost at the corner or prescribed pills, to a close extinction embodied a challenge.

Gaining trust, though, was poles apart when rated on difficulty.

"Come on, just try a little bite."

Mealtimes—the limits to her patience.

"You have to eat, it's mandatory." Coaxing turned to prodding. Poking, then jabbing using the spoon's frontal curve, adamant in stabbing through that wrinkly lip-tight seal.

Rigid at the jaw, "Your grandchild is coming later, wants to see your appetite back," words grinded against a set of teeth, beaming. Restraints stiffened her move, impatience simmering, and simmering with a strained, "Don't you want to get well?"

The mush gets hurled—all hell boiled over.

"Listen here, you little shit." Digits cupped the maw, clefted those stubborn lips. Satisfaction amassed, taunting whispers at the gaped hole, "either you eat, or I shove this right down your throat, and you'll see—"

"Goodness gracious!" Misty's hand released the cheekbone-bruising grip, flinging to muffle a faux-shocked gasp. Chop and change to the angel on her shoulder when your steps dawned on the doorway—the signal to your daily visit.

"You cannot just throw your food like that!" There's the condescending finger wagging, the head shaking disapproval.

Once a sigh sets, she squatted, tissue-wiping the questionable meat, whirled her head around, and said, "Oh, it's you!" The reason for her immense release of oxytocin.

"Ignore this whole mess." A laugh, hopefully to eradicate earlier wickedness. "Grandma's just a bit grumpy this morning!"

So silly.