A Hunger Strike

“Rita?” I looked in amazement at the woman in front of me. She was wearing a large flowery dress, and the morning light shone on her face like a layer of silvery gauze.

Rita went over to the bed with her plate and said respectfully, “Good Morning, Eva. It's time for your breakfast.”

“Where's Daley?” I asked.

“I don't know,” Rita said, shaking her head as she put her breakfast on the table.

“Daley told me to take good care of you,” she said, picking up a bowl of oatmeal. “Try this oatmeal first. I made it myself.”

She spooned some oatmeal into my mouth, and I turned away. She reluctantly put the bowl back on the table, and then she tried to get me some milk.

“Eva, miss... You need to replenish your energy.”

“I'm not hungry,” I said stubbornly. “I need to see Daley.”

“Daley says he'll come to see you when he is free,” Rita said gently. “If Daley knows you're not eating, he'll be angry.”