Flight

“Where’s the IV? What is she? Forty-three kilograms? Dammit, that makes the dose too high. No, give me zero point two mils of tricyclic clomipramine. Now, please.”

A sharp, deep prick and burning. The voices didn’t stop, they merely sped up, getting louder, beating a strange cadence against the inside of her skull. The needles never shut out those voices, they only took away her understanding of them. Memory remained. Drifts of it, like autumn leaves, sodden in tears.

What the hell is going on with this kid whhm weress werllnsrl oouwel asherewl come on, think, you ersl shwer s sweroue fortune rwerw of a rhwhere faorowrwr how can you not know rwersssf zzroerus owrorowere you’re failing her you’re shheree arerennf failing FAILING

On the other side of the room, the wall bowed inwards, a slow motion waltz to the time kept by the machines, a curtsy, a sweeping turn, a delicate shiver.

“Get the cart!”

The line appeared at the cornice, the old, yellowed plaster parting as it descended. Dark, at first, a widening slit of silvery light, too bright to look at, or even near. She was sure she wasn’t doing it. She’d never done it again, not knowingly.

“Charge!”

The line zigged then zagged, paint flaking off and burning up. She was burning up too, like the paper spills Daddy used to let her…