Sharon hated hospitals. The smells always got to her. No matter which hospital she went to, even as a little girl, she could swear the smell always stayed the same.

Dr. Rowen still droned on about the details of her condition, but he had pretty much been doing that every other day since she’d arrived here, at Mercy St. Peter’s Hospital for the Most Wretchedly Ill, or whatever it was called. So instead of listening to him she watched the equipment at the side of her bed. Its beeping and wavy lines entertained her a lot more than he did.

"There’s been a new development, Sharon." His tone, more than that announcement, finally caused her head to turn. He sounded almost hesitant, and Dr. Rowen never sounded hesitant. He had always been a physician of the most detached sort, the kind who could calmly warn you to expect your death in a month or so, optimistically speaking.

Sharon knew this fact well. He had been a statue while telling Sharon she probably wouldn’t last out the year. Hell, Da Vinci could have carved a more lively looking face.

But now she watched with fascination as Dr. Rowen’s teeny black eyes blinked rapidly behind his glasses, and his lips jerked as if from sucking lemon juice all morning.

"We won’t be treating you anymore, Sharon. You’re to be sent elsewhere."

Sharon lifted her head. "What?" Her voice sounded like gravel, and she swallowed impatiently to work up some saliva. "What the hell are you talking about? If you’re trying to dump me into some baby-face doctored special clinic, you can find another guinea pig. I checked into this hospital, and this is where I’m staying. I know I’m insured! Check my policy, dammit!"

Dr. Rowen almost looked uncomfortable. Almost. "No, Sharon. They’re not even doing testing on what you’ve got anymore. The government stopped all funding," he finally replied. "You’re to be sent to The Island."

Sharon’s heart froze. A cold chill swept her, and Dr. Rowen grew almost unreal for a moment.

The Island, short for The Island of Contagious Incurables, where they shipped all the poor souls diagnosed with fatal and infectious diseases. It hardly mattered which one, or how you got it, but once you did everybody else treated you like a sore. It truly began two decades ago. In the year 2030, society had finally decided it was better to remove such sores than to let them grow.

"There must be some mistake," she mumbled as Dr. Rowen peered down at her, twitching his lips. "I’m on the exempted list. All I’ve got is that aggravated new strain of mycoplasmal pneumonia, for God’s sake! I know it’s terminal now, but I just let it go too long, and my lungs were a wreck to begin with. It’s normally not even that serious an illness." She shook her head in disbelief. "And I’m pretty much trapped in this isolation ward, anyway. Who could I possible infect?"

"I take it you haven’t been watching the news lately, Sharon," Dr. Rowen said. "They passed the law abolishing the exempted list. Now all the contagious incurables are qualified for transfer."

Sharon lowered her head, and then she chuckled. Even though inside her head she could hear herself screaming. Qualified. She liked the way he worded it, like eligibility to be a game show contestant.

"But you said there was still a chance I might recover," she protested quietly.

"We can’t keep treating you, Sharon. There’s simply no more funding."

Sharon just sat there, staring at the wall behind him. Grief seemed to roil inside her in waves. Then it dropped into her stomach along with a heavy pit of fear. She managed a look down at herself and found her hands clutching the sheet, knuckles bone-white.

"I’m sorry, Sharon."

But Sharon’s eyes had closed by then, shutting out him and his monotone voice. He hardly existed to her anymore anyway. Dr. Rowen would be just another memory soon, like this hospital, like everything else.

Unfortunately, the fact that she accepted this made it no easier to bear. Sharon reached around and found her pillow. The damned thing felt like rock, nothing like the goose feather ones she remembered from her childhood. And suddenly more than anything else in the world, Sharon wished she could hug a goose-feather pillow.

Dr. Rowen jumped a little when Sharon started sobbing. By far this was Sharon’s most emotional outburst and for a moment he just stood there, swaying from side to side, a little unnerved by all the noise. Then he left her alone.