(no subject)
Title: I Think I Made You Up Inside My Head
Author:
laundrylove
Rating: PG
Characters/Pairings: Alice, the nurse.
Table/Prompt: delta; plead
Word Count: 350
Summary: "That's ridiculous, Miss Mary," Nurse says, her voice weary around the edges. "There isn't a man following you."
Author's Note: The title is a line from Sylvia Plath's poem, Mad Girl's Love Song.
"That's ridiculous, Miss Mary," Nurse says, her voice weary around the edges. "There isn't a man following you." The words sound old and tired, like she's reassured a thousand girls of this.
"Yes there is!" Mary Alice moans, because no one will believe her about the man with the red eyes. "He wants to hurt me, Nurse, please, stay with me in my room-"
"I can't do that, Miss Mary." Nurse smoothes over the sheets, fast, irritated. "There is no man here." A wrinkle appears around the edge, making the entire sheet ruffled and unkempt looking. Nurse starts over again, a petrified sigh loosening her lips.
"Yes, there is! Don't go, please, please, he'll hurt me," she cries. Tears dot the edge of her vision, sparkling as miniscule diamonds and almost hurting her eyes with the sudden wetness. "He smells me, all the time, he says I smell like sunshine- don't go, Nurse, don't go..."
"Miss Mary." The stern tone makes her babbling stop for the moment, and Mary Alice thinks of Mother scolding Cynthia, days, months, seconds ago. Time has begun to bleed together for her, a flurry of past, present, future- "There is no man in your room. If you continue with this nonsense, then perhaps you aren't receiving enough treatments," Nurse says idly, pressing a strand of delicate brown hair behind her ear before moving towards the door.
"No!"
The volume of her voice shocks them both, and Mary Alice winces. It hurts her throat, she hasn't talked this much is so long, so long.
"No, no more treatments," she whispers, and slides down onto her bed (cot) like Nurse wants. She knows what treatments mean, treatments mean more shocks, electricity racing through her veins and exploding through her fingertips, bursting out of her skin and crackling in the silence and pain pain pain-
Abruptly, it is dark.
The light outside her room flicks off with an audible click. There is no moon beyond her barred window.
Mary Alice crumples, folding up like an old rag doll, and waits for the man with the red eyes.
Author:
laundrylove
Rating: PG
Characters/Pairings: Alice, the nurse.
Table/Prompt: delta; plead
Word Count: 350
Summary: "That's ridiculous, Miss Mary," Nurse says, her voice weary around the edges. "There isn't a man following you."
Author's Note: The title is a line from Sylvia Plath's poem, Mad Girl's Love Song.
"That's ridiculous, Miss Mary," Nurse says, her voice weary around the edges. "There isn't a man following you." The words sound old and tired, like she's reassured a thousand girls of this.
"Yes there is!" Mary Alice moans, because no one will believe her about the man with the red eyes. "He wants to hurt me, Nurse, please, stay with me in my room-"
"I can't do that, Miss Mary." Nurse smoothes over the sheets, fast, irritated. "There is no man here." A wrinkle appears around the edge, making the entire sheet ruffled and unkempt looking. Nurse starts over again, a petrified sigh loosening her lips.
"Yes, there is! Don't go, please, please, he'll hurt me," she cries. Tears dot the edge of her vision, sparkling as miniscule diamonds and almost hurting her eyes with the sudden wetness. "He smells me, all the time, he says I smell like sunshine- don't go, Nurse, don't go..."
"Miss Mary." The stern tone makes her babbling stop for the moment, and Mary Alice thinks of Mother scolding Cynthia, days, months, seconds ago. Time has begun to bleed together for her, a flurry of past, present, future- "There is no man in your room. If you continue with this nonsense, then perhaps you aren't receiving enough treatments," Nurse says idly, pressing a strand of delicate brown hair behind her ear before moving towards the door.
"No!"
The volume of her voice shocks them both, and Mary Alice winces. It hurts her throat, she hasn't talked this much is so long, so long.
"No, no more treatments," she whispers, and slides down onto her bed (cot) like Nurse wants. She knows what treatments mean, treatments mean more shocks, electricity racing through her veins and exploding through her fingertips, bursting out of her skin and crackling in the silence and pain pain pain-
Abruptly, it is dark.
The light outside her room flicks off with an audible click. There is no moon beyond her barred window.
Mary Alice crumples, folding up like an old rag doll, and waits for the man with the red eyes.