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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Flash Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic

Submitted: October 01, 2009

A A A | A A A

Submitted: October 01, 2009




You see a blue tractor pushing through deep snow in a far away field and trees laced with the whiteness of the recent fall and ignoring the babble of voices behind you you peer up at the dull grey sky and the chill makes its way through your body’s flesh and bones as you stand in your nightdress and bare feet because they don’t trust you here in the asylum with laces or belts or anything you could hang yourself with what with the last thing you did in the female john with the dressing gown cord around your neck tied one end to the high up flush system and the other around your pretty neck and if it hadn’t been for some nosy patient giving the game away and screaming at the top of her voice like some demented cow bringing the white uniformed nurses racing to your unwelcome rescue you’d be swinging your way to some paradise by this time or not so but now you stand by the window peering out with a cigarette in your mouth and your hands behind your back and your head leaning to one side as if some string had broken in the neck of a puppet and you trying to forget the memory of Bates and his leading you on and down into the dark depths and all that pumping of booze and needles and that moon that you recall shining down on you as you lay on the grass your head about to explode into a thousand shapes and colours and sounds and the heat there uniformed and not so over you looking down their words lost in haze of Hendrix and guitars and all you wanted then was to slit your wrists and lay in a bath of warm water and go meet Jesus if He allowed but the heat boys had other ideas and the stars were all over the place and you talked of each note of music being still out there somewhere racing through space each tone and half tone each blues note easing itself through the space of time and you and your mind and the heat boys just looked on and smiled and thought no doubt she’s on a trip to nowhere let’s get her to the A& E of salvation and they did you recall and their words and touches were of kindness and not of lust or sex or that fecking shite that some deliver to you remember out in the real world if real it is and who the heck knows anymore and as you stand by the window looking out at the snow and field and tractor and trees Sassy comes upon you with her arms around your waist and her lips on your neck where the scars of a failed hanging show mild red and none of the nurses are looking in your direction too busy in their work to see you and the dame with her lips sucking your neck and her hand feeling your breasts and even if your menstruation is on hold what with the stress and such you don’t feel much for the loving touch she wants to give remembering Bates and his strong fingers and his tongue like some viper licking and you turn away from the window seeing her eyes and smile and her hands held out to her side like some Crucified waiting for the nails and hammering and the goodbye words and far off you hear the morning birds and feel the emptiness open wide to swallow all and each and whatever it is you want hidden or lost or seek just yourself within the walls of your mother’s womb and there to hide. 

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