𝗰𝗵𝗼𝗼𝘀𝗲 𝗹𝗶𝗳𝗲 ▸ 𝘁𝗿𝗮𝗶𝗻𝘀𝗽𝗼𝘁𝘁𝗶𝗻𝗴

𝗲𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁. an inevitable fall

~𝗺𝗼𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗿 𝘄𝗶𝗹𝗹 𝗻𝗲𝘃𝗲𝗿 𝘂𝗻𝗱𝗲𝗿𝘀𝘁𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝘄𝗵𝘆 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗵𝗮𝗱 𝘁𝗼 𝗹𝗲𝗮𝘃𝗲, 𝗯𝘂𝘁 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗮𝗻𝘀𝘄𝗲𝗿𝘀 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝘀𝗲𝗲𝗸 𝘄𝗶𝗹𝗹 𝗻𝗲𝘃𝗲𝗿 𝗯𝗲 𝗳𝗼𝘂𝗻𝗱 𝗮𝘁 𝗵𝗼𝗺𝗲, 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗹𝗼𝘃𝗲 𝘁𝗵𝗮𝘁 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗻𝗲𝗲𝗱 𝘄𝗶𝗹𝗹 𝗻𝗲𝘃𝗲𝗿 𝗯𝗲 𝗳𝗼𝘂𝗻𝗱 𝗮𝘁 𝗵𝗼𝗺𝗲~

Olivia stared back at her with no expression – she appeared so jarringly old that Lana (tragically out of breath from the walk up the hill) could do nothing more than stand there, panting at her like any other lobotomised resident at the ward. Finally, she rasped out, 'Where's the bairn?'

'You better be fuckin joking, Lana. I'm not bringin my daughter up Sketty Hill.'

'Not even to visit her dear, wee Grandma?'

'Figured we should evaluate the damage before I make any announcements, never mind letting ma own fucking spawn into this creepy wankhole.'

'Yeah? And what happened to the no-no words?'

One of the wardens interrupted Olivia's glare with a polite cough, prompting both the Gardyns girls to spin in his direction with identical expressions. He paused at the sight before divulging further details, 'You've been Mary's fist visitors so far.'

'First and last, I think you'll find.'

'Well, she's certainly a colourful character,' the warden chuckled nervously. The descriptor "colourful character" - Olivia had learned from her torturous years working in care – really meant that a woman held strong and/or racist opinions and was stubborn enough for another woman to notice.

Lana leaned into her sister as he continued to relay details of her transitioning on from the pensioner's home. Barely moving her lips, she uttered, 'How colourful can a human vegetable be?'

'She's stale broccoli,' Olivia whispered back.

'I would warn you both,' he began, leading them down an arctic hallway, 'when you go in, you may be faced with someone you don't completely recognise. Miss Gardyns was quite insistent on receiving sedatives when she first arrived, but given her records of addiction and rehab admittances, we were reluctant to prescribe anything along those lines.'

The young women exchanged another glance. Mary had been but a painting of a woman since they entered adulthood, scarcely stringing proper sentences together, barely recognising the people around her. Olivia opened the door and gingerly crossed the threshold into the patient care room. Lana followed closely behind her, clutching her chest to calm the racing thud inside. The windows at the far side were glazed with a turquoise overlay, casting a forlorn tinge through the whole space. Even the warmer colours – the potted plant on the high shelf, the familiar crocheted blanket draped over her rocking chair – were washed out in the thorough freeze of the entire ward.

'Ma,' Olivia rumbled, directing her youngest to the husk in the corner. The same dark hair as her daughters, exaggerated lines like the ones that materialised when either of them frowned.

'What the fuck are you two doing here?'

Olivia flinched, her hand flying to the crook of her sister's elbow to inadvertently jab at the bruise disguised by her jumper. But Lana didn't move.

'You fuckin tarts don't bother visitin me for half a decade and now you show up?'

'Please, Ma, calm down.' Olivia sniffled.

'I've been calm, you wee whore, I've been calm for years.' Calm was an understatement. More accurately, Mary had been sedated for years. Lana had been under the impression that there truly had been a hole drilled in the back of her skull at some point. Something else had been altered in her, though, something evidenced by the clear rage in her eyes, pupils sharp as needles, words as cutting as flames in the dead of night. 'What is it, Liv? Think your dear, old Ma would welcome you back with open arms after you left her in a shithole full of wrinkly cunts on bonus time?'