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Estella and Steven
One of the patients in the ward was a little woman, grey haired, with a face heavily furrowed by wrinkles.
She always had the plastic cigarette the nurses used to give us in her mouth, long after it had run out.
Every evening, a tall and handsome man would come to see her. And every evening, before he left, he would kneel by her side and place a single rose on the lap that would never hold their children.
And she would fuss at him with her little fists through her tears, the most beautiful smile in the world on her lips.
My roommate at the psychiatric ward was a tall, agonized whisper who paced the room in a blue jersey, a Bic pen in his mouth.
He held me by the throat when we first met.
“Is it true?” he demanded.
“Of course not!” I squeaked.
He stared searchingly into my face and was evidently satisfied.
The next morning, he sent me to therapy with an apple he’d been saving for a long time.
“Run along to school,” he said.
And every evening, he’d set me impossible subtractions, with exceedingly long figures.
Quite incapable of calculation himself, he’d either pat me on the head and give me his little, worn doll to cuddle, or slap me across the face and send me to bed.
#Unreal #FlashFiction #Relationships #Interactions #Imagery #Photography
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