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.
