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There was an element of innocence about the young girl before Victor Bradman that intrigued him. She was a honey-blonde with eyes that shone bright as she spoke and he thought he caught an underlying cockney dialect beneath t
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Jessie Butler sits down in the armchair situated just inside her bedroom. She allows her nerves to calm. Her hands fiddle with the pink geraniums her daughter Margaret had given her earlier. She holds them against her breast
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"Just so," Max exclaimed excitedly, dabbing the canvas. Jeanne, his blonde model froze her features. Dab, dab, went his brush against the canvas. Jeanne sensed her limbs and jaw begin to ache. She hoped Max wouldn't be long.
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After informing you that Mr.Tissot would be delayed and showing you both into the large room, the young maidservant dropped a curtsy and left, closing the door softly behind her.1
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“My father hated Lent,” said Sister Luke, “he said it reminded him of death. Cancer crept into him silent and slow. Where is your God now?
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You remember the day you met that man called Jack as he came along and put his foot on the bench where you were sitting by the beach to tie
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And then Mrs Smallbridge calls you back again with that voice of hers that could sour milk and asks about the curtains in Master Henry’s Room whether they had been changed yet because he was due down later the following day a
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Sofia played the violin real well as she did most things and you stood in her shadow like a lesser version of her as if you were just a spare child brought along in case something happened to the number one girl with her fine
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“There is a Christmas tree in the cloister,” said Sister Claire, “and the nuns smile as they pass it by. My childhood is brought to mind by each light and sparkle; the angel on the top replaces the pagan fairy; my father poo
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They move you out of the sun and in beneath the shade of the copper beech. “Don’t want you getting sunburnt do we, Emily?” Harry says. Harry, your brother doesn’t wait to hear a reply from you because he knows he won’t get on
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Vincent puts down his brush. His eyes stare at the canvas. Standing back, he feels the cold wall behind him. The painting seems to move, to have a life of its own. His hands shake; his head aches. He closes his eyes and sense
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“The rosary moves between my finger and thumb,” said Sister Scolastica, “the prayers pressed and polished into the wood. Ebony wood, smooth worn by constant prayer and the feel of flesh. My mother’s fingers were worn to the b
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You see a blue tractor pushing through deep snow in a far away field and trees laced with the whiteness of the recent fall and ignoring the babble of voices behind you you peer up at the dull grey sky and the chill makes its
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You pace the room in agitation. Your hands clench and unclench themselves as if they belonged to another and not to you. Your long black hair and dark eyes, give you a menacing appearance, making even hardened nurses think tw
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Deranged girl your father said to any that’d listen as they called by the house or looked in referring to you but never to you or with you in conversation but to others who would gaze in your direction and shake their heads i
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The room gets full of smoke and voices and jazz music playing loudly over your heads and Gigi says to you come on Blue lets get out of this joint before we catch or die of something and she takes your hand in hers and off you
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They have brought you back home from the asylum and settled you in your room and left for other things to do and probably talk about you ou
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Sister Ambrose closes the shutters at her window keeping the last of the light from the moon and stars shut outside in the cold and dark and standing back crossing herself from forehead to breast from shoulder to shoulder wit
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They said they were going to release you tomorrow from the asylum or so you heard from one of the nurses so be on your best behaviour she s
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You sit in a chair in the locked room staring at your reflection in the mirror taking in your eyes that stare back at you look at the nose the mouth the hair at the lost ness you see there and all the time downstairs the hum
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by Terry Collett
600 words, 2 comments,
on Jun 25 7:30 AM. In Adult, Asylum, Flash fiction, Girl, Locked ward, Love, Sex, Smokes, Story, Woman
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It had always been what Braxton wanted right from the start when you first met him and he came over and began chatting you up and buying you drinks and taking you out to dinner and to the theatre and taking you back to his pl
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It was the year that Eddie changed for the worse the year Fay first heard Elvis on the radio singing some song about his mama and Eddie swi
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Your name always seemed to be the one on Sister Paul’s lips always your name Maggie that echoed along the corridor of the cloister if you h
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It was always a matter of what to wear and how to have your hair and what colour went with what and how would Edgar like it if you turned up too early with the wrong kind of clothes on or the hair not quite as he liked it may
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