Sheep on a hill

WHAT IS THIS LIGHT!

Oh it's morning. Daybreak bursting through the crack in my curtains infecting my light starved eyes with blurred pain. DAM! It's like this every morning but never happens the same way twice. I didn't even have a drink last night. I don't drink any night.

The constant sound of a pen tapping on a wooden surface relaxes me. Some people find it annoying, like nurse Gemma. She grabs the pen off me and throws it in the bin. The look on her face is one of utter violence. I'm sure if she thought she'd get away with it she'd stab that pen into eye socket and grind it round until the clear plastic started to scrape the bone. Fat cow. Who does she think she is?

Breakfast is simple flaky powdered crap with milk. Good for me they say, good for no one. It's Tuesday so yesterday was Monday. On Monday's we get post. I got a postcard from my mother.

According to the picture on the front she's in Eastbourne with Derek. I hate Derek, have done ever since he took mother away from grieving for father. She wasn't ready, it had only been 4 years, he could see how vulnerable she was and...

Sheep on a hill; sheep on a hill; sheep on a hill...

I stared at the message on that back for 16 hours 27 minutes and 32 seconds. I couldn't believe what she'd written; I don't believe it. Blue ink from a ballpoint pen. You can tell by the way the card indents under the pressure of writing.

It wasn't the “Having a lovely time” or the “Weather is nice, bit blowy”, those kind of formal statements are just part of the course. The line that threw me, that made me dream and hope before I realised it was bull “Wish you were here.”

Filled with cruel intention and disingenuous feeling “Wish you were here.” as if. She never wanted me in her in the first place. Would have had the doctors rip me out if she could have. Couldn't wait to put me in here with nurse Gemma, get me out of the house, get me as far away from her as possible.

“Wish you were here.”

I WANT MY PEN BACK!