The ward is quiet. Silence penetrating every corner and crevice not already taken by the darkness. Its a different kind of darkness, though, here in the hospital, to what it was on the bridge- more contained, as if the absence of light is under a scrutiny as close as that placed upon the various machines lined up against the far wall. Almost everyone is asleep, everyone except me. It's barely possible to close my eyes in this sterilised hell.
When I was first transferred here, from intensive care, my every move was monitored and planned. Now, at least, I have managed to fool them into thinking that I am recovering, that I've changed, that I would never think of doing anything so reckless again. It didn't take much, I've developed into quite the actress, and have now been granted a small ounce of freedom as reward for my carefree facade. Besides, they want to believe that they can soon be rid of me, transfer the burden on to someone else, so the new, happy, fake me is lapped up.
The doctors say I am starting counseling sessions tomorrow, though, and I don't think that I can face the pitying expressions and patronising words. I expect the counselor won't be quite as easy to deceive.
Not that I intend to find out.
Slowly, carefully, I slip my bruised body out of the hospital bed- and freeze. But it's nothing, its always nothing, even as the darkness reigns my stupid head won't let me rest, pestering me with false alarms. I tiptoe across the cool tiles and slip ghost-like under the security bar which hugs the nurses office, being dangerously thin can have its merits.
As the office door creaks open I suddenly flash back to the night on the bridge and a strange calm envelops my thoughts. I reach out a pale, clammy hand and clasp the nearest pill box to my chest- just a few more minutes and all of this will be over.
The crack of the seal breaking resonates in the quiet ward.
I empty the contents of the box into my palm, but as I do so a strange feeling prickling the back of my neck compels me to turn around.
A boy is stood, framed in the office doorway, his steely grey eyes fixed on mine. Their cool depth sends a spasm of recollection lancing up my spine; my mothers eyes. I don't move.
"Not giving life a chance then." he states, somewhat icily.
"I don't give second chances." I retort, pushing past him and out into the corridor beyond.
It smells strongly of disinfectant and... death, as I walk past identical door after identical door. Behind one I hear the sound of weeping, my chest tightens but my step doesn't falter and I keep the pills clutched tightly in my hand. I don't know what I will do if someone finds me, run I suspect.
The hospital feels like a prison, wherever I go death's presence is constantly there, jeering at my beating heart. I want to scream, to bang my fists against the wall until it breaks, but most of all I just want to die. Why won't anyone understand that I just want to die?
Footsteps. A nurse? No. It's the stormy eyed boy again. I start to run, my dank hospital gown billowing round my bare ankles, but he's still there, behind me. In my mind, he morphs back into my Mother; wiping the tears from my pure, innocent four year old cheek, gently humming a lullaby as she strokes my hair, laughing as I send a string of bubbles dancing up into the summer sky...
"Why are you following me?" I snap, coming to an abrupt halt and spinning to face him.
"Your pills" he says, "I interrupted you taking your pills".
"What?!" This is mad, he knows perfectly well what I was going to do.
"I'm not going to stop you." he continues, "Just swallow the pills". His gaze is as cold as ice, emotionless as he speaks.
The darker memories of my childhood come weaving in now, a slideshow of darkening shadows; my mothers voice raised in anger and then, worse, sinking to a deep disappointment. It is not a raven haired boy offering me my longed for ending, but my Mother watching my deterioration with her hard yet tired gaze...
I stare back for a moment, unable to form a single word. Then I let my eyes wander down to the 12 chalky blue pills nestled in my palm. He is accepting my death, something I desperately want, but I can't do it. I feel ripped apart inside, most of me longing to die, my limbs aching for closure, and the other part... Not. It's like a mental wall, stopping me from welcoming his acceptance, welcoming death. Something has changed, changed even from a few minutes ago, and it scares me. Really scares me.
Slowly, I shake my head and my fingers close round the pills. Neither of us says a word.
I turn and walk back towards the ward but he just stands there, my mother's eyes watching me go.
Author's Note
Well, I hope you enjoyed it! Thank you so much for reading, this update was a bit longer than those previously! Please please please comment your feedback, any constructive criticism would be gratefully received and I would just love to hear what you think in general! Maybe vote too if you liked it...:)
Thank you! ❤
I have made a few changes since this was first uploaded as, with help from LittleGreyWoman (thank you!), I realised that it wasn't quite portraying all of what I was trying to get across. ❤❤❤
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The World Is Worth A Smile
浪漫A turbulent past full of violence and fear has meant that Jasmine Hope Barness can't see past the terror around her. But when an attempted suicide fails, and the ghosts from her childhood begin to rise up again, can she be persuaded not to try again...
