My heart pounds erratically beneath its bone cage. Tired I will to close my eyes, to fall into the dark world. How quietly she appears beside me, like a ghost or a devil ready to haunt me. She speaks in soft-spoken tones, but her words fall in a murmur indefinable by any language that I have learnt before. Maybe it’s because I am tired. I just want to sleep and curl in a ball, but nothing could be that way anymore.

Life never was easy to me. How I hated it, how I wished I had the guts to throw myself off the cliff and fall onto the jugged rocks to be broken like a doll. I wanted to be in peace, what sleep could only do so for me. My heart races like an unstoppable train, my thoughts slither across the slippery floor of my brain. I watch the blood fall onto the burgundy carpet. I watch it splash, scattering its crimson shade, darkening the carpet. The blood does not seem to be mine. It is not mine. The carpet is wet; it squishes with each step, wetting my bare feet. I gaze through the glass. A corridor is beyond it, its watchful eyes staring. I turn to face the three walls with the door behind me.

Looking up, I see the patch of blue sky. I hear the pattering of feet coming closer; their labouring breaths seem so tiring. She watches me -her white gown ever shimmering. I stare downwards, observing the web of blood on my arm. My feet feel soaked. They are red like the colour of blood. It is all over the floor. I realise that this cell has no carpet only the hard brown wooden floor.

But this red, it no longer lingers on my feet. I am tired. I close my eyes. Her presence comforts me. She takes my hand and we walk. I see the light so bright. What light would this be? Her soft tone washes over me- her smile so gentle.

Suddenly I find myself staring at the circle of light. I see the ugly bulb and the peeling ceiling. Where was that bright light? Once more I watch the patch of blue sky. My arms around me are tightly bounded by the white straitjacket. Where is she? Where is the lady whose language I do not comprehend and the shimmering white gown? Gone like her soft tones, like the whispering wind. Had it been real? Or a dream like the many I make staring at the patch of blue sky in the tiny cell of mine in the quiet mental hospital.