The hospital corridor was cold, and dark. The air reeked of disinfectant and chemicals, and the lights were dimmed, creating an eerie atmosphere. It was late, very late, so the corridor was mostly empty, except for the odd nurse rushing from one room to another, and a lone young girl sitting on one of the old, threadbare chairs lined up along the edge of the corridor. She appeared to be around seven, with an innocent looking face framed by thick chestnut brown hair which fell in rich curls down to her shoulders. She was wearing a pretty red chequered dress and matching red shoes, which were now the focus of her attention, her big blue eyes following them, mesmerized, as they swung back and forth.

'Is that her?'�

A little way down the hall, a group of medics consisting of two nurses and a doctor had emerged form a set of blue double doors, still swinging back and forth, almost perfectly in time with the girl's shoes. In response to the doctor's question, one of the nurses nodded solemnly. The girl, completely oblivious, sneezed daintily.

'Bless me.'� She said to herself. A pained expression crossed the younger nurse's face and she closed her eyes.

'Thank God I don't have to be the one to break the bad news to that one.'� She murmured to her superior behind the doctor's retreating back.

Following an unfortunate incident, the girl's parents were now lying dead on the two beds in recuss. Their faces were covered in a mask of bandages, the skin underneath burnt so badly that they were unrecognisable by the blast created when the gas had leaked and caused an explosion in their home. Now the girl was an orphan, and she had no idea whatsoever what she was about to be told. From what the nurse had gathered from a cheerful conversation with the girl just over an hour ago, she had been at school when the call came through from the hospital. Literacy hour, she had been told.

'Lucky it wasn't in arithmetic. I really like adding and subtracting, so I would have been really upset then. But since it was only English, I don't really mind being here.'� The girl had said. Her name was Tabetha, and she was 7 and ¾ years old.

'Call me Tabby though. I don't like being called Tabetha. It sounds really snooty.'� She wrinkled her nose and giggled.

When Tabby first came to the hospital, her grandparents had met her at the door. They were both extremely tearful when the heard that their daughter and son-in-law probably wouldn't survive, but when Tabby skipped in, still in her school uniform and looking slightly bewildered but happy, they had put on a brave face. They had taken her down to the hospital canteen, bought her a drink and a sandwich, and then tried, in vain, to explain to her what exactly was going on.

'Tabby, your parents aren't very well at the moment. They've had an accident, and they're with the doctor right now.'� Her grandmother said, an elderly woman with severe features but a kind, gentle voice. Tabby looked up from her sandwich.

'Are they very sick, then?'� she asked around a mouthful of bread (she didn't like the filling, and had picked it all out). This innocent question was enough to break her grandmother. With a sob, she turned and buried her head in her husband's coat. Unfortunately, she had always been the stronger one in the relationship, and when she broke down, so did he. Alarmed, Tabby swallowed her bread in haste.

'What? They really are ill? Are they unhappy too? What can I do to help? What?'� she spoke in a rush, confused, and frightened. Her grandmother wiped her eyes and tried to regain her composure.

'Yes child, I should think that they are rather unhappy right now. They're probably hurting quite a lot.'� She said. Comforted by her grandmother's gentle tone, but shaken by the dark meaning behind her words, Tabby calmed down too and looked thoughtful.

'Would it make them happy if I looked nice? I could go home and put on that dress and the shoes they bought me when we went out at the weekend. The I'd be all pretty for them when they got better.'� She concluded. And so, her grandparents had taken her home so she could change. When they got back to the hospital, they left Tabby alone to wait for what they knew to be her parent's death, afraid that if they stayed then the events of the day would be confirmed real and then there would be no going back.

So now Tabby sat waiting, just as patiently as ever, in her red dress and shoes, for her parents to get better. But the nurse knew with a sickening certainty that Tabby would never see her parent's faces again, at least, not without 3rd degree burns distorting their features. Tearfully, the nurse turned away from the girl as the doctor neared her.

He knelt down beside her, and touched her arm gently to get her attention.

'Hello Tabby. My name is doctor Williams. I've been looking after your mummy and daddy.'� He said quietly. At the mention of her parents, Tabby looked up.

'Oh, are they better now?'� she asked blurrily. She was obviously exhausted, and had been on the verge of sleep. Doctor Williams sighed.

'Tabby. You know that the reason that you parents are-were ill, was because they were in a fire?'�
Tabby nodded. This much her grandparents had told her before they left.

'Well'� they were very badly burned, and there was really nothing we could do to help them. Your parents are-well, they'� they're dead, Tabby. Do you know what that means?'� he asked. Tabby looked at him, suitably shocked and confused.

'I-think so. Our kitten died last year. Her name was Tilly. She was my best friend. But then she got run over by a car. And we had to bury her in the garden. Dad said that she was dead, and that I wouldn't be able to see her anymore because she was going to sleep forever. She was going to see god, and the angels too, if she was lucky.'� Tabby explained, the fact that she had just been told her parents were dead apparently forgotten in the excitement of storytelling.

'Yes, well'�that's what's happened to your parents, Tabby. You won't be able to see them again, because they're dead.'� Doctor Williams confirmed, a little too bluntly. Behind him, the remaining nurse winced. He really wasn't used to dealing with children.

'But, but! People don't die, do they? Only animals and plants and flowers and trees! Do they? They don't, right? Right?'� Tabby was nearly hysterical now, tears overflowing out of her eyes.

'I-I'm afraid so, Tabby.'� He told her. Then, after a thought, he added: 'Would you like to see your parents one last time?'�

Tabby's face lit up instantly.

'They're still alive?'� she cried in hope. The doctor shook his head, and her face fell again.

'No, no, I meant, would you like to see their bodies one last time?'�

'Oh'� well then, yes. I-I think I would like to, please I can say goodbye then, can't I?'�

Doctor Williams nodded, and took her hand, leading her up the hall to the doors to recuss. Both of their bodies were covered by white sheet up to their chins, and their burnt faces were covered by makes of plaster with holes for their eyes, nose and mouth. When Tabby came into the room, she looked questioningly from the bodies on the beds to Dr. Williams, as is to say, 'are these really my parents?'. In response, the doctor nodded his head in a sad, slow way, and Tabby shuffled forwards. Even though she couldn't see his face, Tabby knew instantly that the first body she came to was her father's. She walked right up to the side of the bed and put her pale hand over his bandaged one.

'Hi daddy. It's me, Tabby. I-the doctor says that I have to say goodbye to you now, because you're dead, and you won't be able to come back and see me anymore. Nor will you, mum.'� She looked over at the other bed containing who she knew to be her mother. 'Because you're'� dead. Just like Tilly, remember? You're going to go to sleep for a very long time. But don't be afraid. Because since you we good while you were alive, you'll be able to go and be with God and his angels. I know you'll be o.k, because you told me death wasn't something to be afraid of. So since I'm not afraid, you mustn't be either. See? I've even dressed myself up nicely for you. I'm happy, like you'll be in heaven. So'�goodbye dad, mum.'�

And with that, the 7 and ¾ year old turned and headed bravely out of the room. She was crying, but the hysterics she had dissolved into earlier were gone. Now, it was a peaceful crying, like she had made some kind of mystical revelation during the one-sided conversation she had had with her dead parents. And Dr. Williams was astonished when Tabby stopped and turned around to deliver one last message to her parents.

'Oh-I nearly forgot to ask. Would you say hello to Tilly for me?'�

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