White as a Sheet

Chapter 1

Tick.

Tick.

Tick.

My eyes gaze as the clock-hand makes its journey around the plain white face.

Eventually, you begin anticipating the 'tick'. Perhaps that never-ending noise is driving me to madness.

Hope so.

My right eye twitches, eye-lids sliding over half of the dull emerald-green irises for a split-second.

I do this every day; simply watch at the clock and think.

That's all to do in a hospital anyway.

I look to the photo of my parents and me that the 'hospital people' had retrieved from my house after the crash, those five years ago. I’m wearing my favourite pink leotard and cotton lace-around tutu. I think it was my very first dancing lesson. The grin doesn’t suit my small face, it’s so big. Mum and Dad's cheery faces smile, hugging a younger version of me.

A version of me where I can stand.

And walk.

And run.

And dance like there was no tomorrow.

I sigh. I wish they were here.

That accident pained me so much. I mean I'm lucky to be alive, not like Mum & Dad, but... it hurt.

I don't know how to describe it really. I guess it was like getting ripped apart, and cast away from everything you loved. The devastation... was unbearable.

I would have run, got away from this godforsaken place, but I can't.

The tears that rolled down my cheeks never stopped for the first two weeks. After that, I still sobbed. The only way I got to sleep, was by doing that very thing until I left my waking-state.

I am aware of how it affected me so much - not just physically, but socially and emotionally.

'Friend' is a foreign word and 'happiness' can never be the same.

I grit my teeth, eyes blazing, my heart rate suddenly quickening. If that accident hadn't happened, I wouldn't be stuck in this stupid hospital surrounded with people that don't even give a damn about me!

I sigh once more and relax my tensed muscles. I don't know why I look at that photo anymore, I always end up so angry.

The approaching clicking of heels comes from the hallway, notifying me that she's coming.

"And how's our Lily today?" Fiona walks in with a flat tone. I flinch at her nasally cranky voice. All these years and I still haven't got used to it!

She has wavy dark hair and a fat forty-year-old face, makeup caked on that I'm surprised she can even raise her eyebrows in it. Her fitted nurse’s outfit does the opposite of what it's supposed to do - it certainly does not compliment her chubby but wide-hipped figure. I notice of couple hairs sprouting on her upper lip.

Ew.

I don't answer her because I can tell she doesn't care.

That ugly face of hers crinkles into an annoyed-expression. "Lily, why won't you answer me?"

"You don't deserve it." I spit, scowling.

She shakes her head, tutting, and picks up the clipboard at the end of my bed with one horribly perfect manicured hand. She flips the plastic cover over to the back and reads it over.

The same old thing:

"'NAME: Lily Elizabeth Johnston

AGE: 10 years and 3 months

DIAGNOSIS: Suffers from MS

PRESCRIPTION: ?

PARENTS/GUARDIANS: N/A

CONTACT NUMBER: N/A'"

"I do know what's wrong with me." I snap. "I have Multiple Sclerosis, I'm stuck in this hospital for the rest of my life because none of my relatives want me, and for crying out loud, I do know my own name! How many more times do you have to tell me?!"

"I think you've forgotten your age though, young lady - ten! A ten-year-old can't speak like that to me! Respect your elders!"

I shut my mouth abruptly, probably making me resemble a goldfish, and angrily curse her inside my head.

She turns my television on with a "humph" and walks out with her high heels and her big but swinging.

"Typical. She's done her work for the day."

I watch an hour of Cartoon Network when it switches to a black screen. My eyes narrow in suspicion and confusion.

"Fun time's over." says a male voice.

Great. Just when I was having slight enjoyment.

It's Richard, my favourite tutor. (Notice the sarcasm.)

He places a small pile of books on my bed, not to mention on top of my belly! Air escapes me as it pressures my lungs.

He pushes his modern rectangular glasses up his nose. He looks about in his twenties and has chocolate brown hair cut into a bob. You can tell he doesn't want to be here. His bored tone says it all.

"We're still working on Geography... So I guess, I'll just read you some stuff about Africa..." he sounds like he'd rather be in bed.

He pulls up a chair near my bed and reads about Africa.

"The giraffe is an iconic African animal-"

"What does 'iconic' mean?" I moan.

"Iconic? Well it means..." he takes out his iPhone and dabs away on it. I bet he's going on Dictionary.com or something. "Iconic means the people, places or things that a place is most famous for."

Sometimes I wonder if he's qualified or not.

He continues reading, "The neck of the giraffe can extend up to-"

"What does 'extend' mean?"

"Erm... Grow longer... Where was I?... I can't wait until this community service is over..." he mutters.

"What does 'community' mean?"

He types something into his iPhone again. "A group of people having common interests or living in one locality." his eyes move over the screen, and then he slips it into his pocket.

"What does 'locality' mean?"

He grits his teeth.

"Richard, what does 'locality' mean?"

He leans into me, still gritting his teeth, and points his finger at me aggressively. "How about you, just shut up, and we'll forget about this little lesson? Does that sound good to you?!"

I smile smugly. "My lips, are sealed."

"Good." he turns the TV back on, throws the remote down, stalks out and slams the door behind him.

I laugh slyly. "Gets 'im every time."