A Glass of Juice

He was exhausted. It wasn't just his body but his mind as well. He fought really well so as not to succumb to the darkness. Hence, the reason for his exhaustion. Everything around him was a mess. He was beside a cliff, on the edge even. 

A glass of juiceㅡthat was all he asked for. It might not satisfy his hunger but it would help the thirst that he was feeling.

The juice would not be appreciated at a face value. It would serve as the sweetness in that bitter dark abyss of life. He would be able to rest thenㅡhis mind, his heart, everything.

Yet, in the end, that's the very thing I couldn't give himㅡa glass of juice.

The story behind the story:

This story, though seemingly shallow, was based on a client in a mental institution. The author had the firsthand experience of observing the lives of the clientsㅡmore commonly known as patientsㅡinside the hospital. One man approached her and askedㅡalmost pleaded evenㅡher for a pitcher of juice for him and his fellow patients but the author had to decline because she was not allowed to heed the requests of the clients who were not assigned to her.