I cursed the sterile white room where Ann died

As I stood in the stark hospital room, the pristine white walls seemed to mock me with their cleanliness. Ann lay motionless on the sterile sheets, her once vibrant spirit now gone.

I could still hear the beeping of the machines that had surrounded her, monitoring her fading life. The antiseptic smell that pervaded the room made my stomach turn with grief and anger.

Why did she have to die in such a cold, impersonal place? I cursed the walls that held her final moments, wishing they could have been filled with warmth and love instead.

I longed to whisk her away from this clinical setting, to a place where she could feel the sun on her face and hear the birds chirping outside her window.

But it was too late. Ann was gone, leaving only memories and the emptiness of a room that had witnessed her last breath.

I vowed to never forget the sight of her lying there, surrounded by machines and tubes, a stark reminder of the fragility of life.

And as I left that sterile white room, I whispered a final curse, not at the walls or the machines, but at a fate that had stolen my beloved Ann away.

May she rest in peace, far away from the sterile confines of that hospital room.