15 Years Ago – After Zabi's Dad Is Rolled Out of the Operating Room, Unconscious
Zabi stood outside in the narrow alley behind the hospital.
It was dark and gloomy, insects buzzing all over the trash bins—filled with used gloves, injections, and torn medicine cartons.
For a hospital bin, it didn't look clean at all.
And that was exactly where kid Zabi sat—knees raised, arms wrapped around them as he cried nonstop.
His back pressed against the cold wall, the air-filter fan above him squeaking like machinery from a factory.
Earlier,
the receptionist and some nurses had sympathized with him. They put his father on a water drip, gave him injections to stabilize his scorching body—but nothing showed promise.
He never woke up.
He just lay there, eyes crossed, body still.
That was what Zabi was dealing with.
Back in the alley—
"I just want to go home…"
He spoke through shuttered breaths, shivering as if he was on top of Mount Everest.
