Welcome to my writing world. Sit back with a hot drink and enjoy a few minutes somewhere other than where you are now.
⏱️ Read time: ~2 mins
🏷️ Genre: Psychological Flash Fiction
💢 Content warning: None
This was originally written for the 8 Days of Ether challenge by Ether Books and it was available to read on their app. Sadly Ether is no more.
Ward H2
Ward H2
Gerald was dancing again. I watched him standing in the middle of the common room in the men-only, psychiatric ward H2, shuffling tiny steps from side to side, hunched forward, grey hair poking up all over his head. He was wearing his slippers and a grey tracksuit with red stripes down the sides of the legs. The whole place stank of overcooked vegetables. It had yellow walls and dirty-white, chipped skirting boards.
Why was Gerald so happy?
He grinned at the telly, eyes wide, dentures on full display thanks to the salacious grin on his face. There was no volume, but he was bopping away anyway, watching two semi-naked girls on MTV dancing in unison.
At the table next to mine a man made a noise like a barking dog. I glanced at him, startled, but he was staring straight ahead, seeing something in another stream of consciousness.
Was that some kind of signal?
I decided to ignore him.
I turned my attention to a group of three younger men on the sofa. They were crowded together looking at a mobile phone. Whispers and laughter. The man on the far left slapped the man in the middle on the back. A congratulatory gesture that suggested women were the subject matter. They were probably completely unaware of what was going on. Men distracted by women are like dogs after a roast chicken leg. The world could end and they’d still be sat salivating at the side of the table.
One of the wardens came in. A heavyweight. He was clearly only employed to sort out brawls and restrain patients that completely lost their shit. I studied him carefully. Standard scrubs, ID lanyard around his neck, but black boots, not trainers like the other wardens. I made a mental note to avoid him. He looked around the room, checking on us all, and then he nodded at a man getting a drink of water from the cooler.
“Alright, Brian?”
The man he called Brian didn’t look up, but nodded over and over again in response. Heavyweight watched him and smiled.
What did that mean?
I stood up slowly and walked out, trying not to draw attention to myself. Getting the casual, but purposeful balance in my stride exactly right, my steps neither too long, nor too short. I kept my arms down, swinging softly. Heavyweight looked at me but I turned my head to the window as I passed him, pretending something outside had caught my eye. He didn’t speak to me. In the corridor I passed two blank-faced residents before I reached the door to my room. I looked left and right before I opened it. No one was paying me any attention.
Or so it seemed.
I closed the door softly behind me, lay down on my bed and stared at the ceiling. It was better if I didn’t socialise.
Any one of them could be from the CIA.
Even old Gerald.
After all, who wouldn’t be paranoid in a place like this?
