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JUST A FEW MORE
Swallow. Another sip of water, swallow again. Just a few more pills and she'll be able to forget completely. Inside her, the child keens.
Eventually she wakes : everything is bright, sharp and white, and she wishes to return to the soft darkness. A face swims into view. Disapproving. Always disapproving. It's never safe. There's always someone who thinks you're a needless waste of oxygen. As the disapproval moves forward, she makes a feeble attempt at spitting in its face. The nurse doesn't even notice. She checks her chart, takes her blood pressure, adjusts the drip and deserts her. It's never safe.
The patronising voices haunt her - anyone would think she was three years old. Faces swim into each other; she begins to confuse people. Doctor, mother, father, sister - they are all one. One disapproving glance. Through it all the smell of disinfectant pervades. She hates the smell of disinfectant. There is no rest - she can no longer distinguish between reality and nightmare.
***
A thousand years later and she's allowed to go to the bathroom, under supervision. As she "gets better" she behaves so well that she is soon allowed to go alone. One night she steals out of bed. Feeling the baby protest, she walks upright rather than crouching. Standing over the bath. Dismantling the safety razor blade, stolen from old Mr Wilkins in the adjoining room, she makes the first incision. Just a few more cuts and the blood will wash it all away. The child inside her keens.
This time they don't find her in time.