Her mind was a jungle, a jumble of past and present, of real and imagined. Living as she did, in her tiny unit on a busy street, life was confusing, to say the least.
She thought of herself as a queen, her throne the bus seat on the main road, her crown a faded carroty halo, roots all grey. People either ignored her, eyed her suspiciously and took wide berth, or (only the very brave ones) said hello.
Some days were orange and filled with irritability, others were blue and quieter. On these days, when the voices were just mumbles, she would sit by the water and keep the seagulls company, smoke in hand.
On orange days, all sorts of chaos could ensue. One day, when the cacophony in her head was all too much, the men in blue had taken her to hospital. Whilst the food was good, it was a bad mad place to be and she had promised to behave if she could just go home.
Now that the nice girl comes and gives her a monthly jab, the noises are mere murmurs, and she can get on with chatting to friendly voices. She may not fit in, but this is her home.