Cloudscape

© Photobank gallery / Shutterstock.com

The cloudscape reminded her of home. Huge fluffy clouds in a bright, clear sky. Her heart ached when she thought of her family and the house they'd lived in. It was nothing fancy - just an old weatherboard cottage painted egg shell blue, trimmed with white eaves, window panes and sills, and dark blue doors. The tiles were grey and the whole house gave the appearance of having fallen from the sky, and landed neatly in lovely garden resplendent with birds and flowers.

She had loved that house, had felt comfortable and happy there. It all seemed so long ago now. She could barely remember her husband, James, and their two girls. What were their names - Jean, no, no, that wasn't it. Jennifer, yes, and the other one? She couldn't remember. No, it was the house that stayed with her. It comforted her when the nights were cold and dark, and when the days were bleak and endless.

She couldn't remember when she had ceased to have a family or when she had lost the house. She had been in this place for so long now, trapped here against her will. Yet, if she were to be honest, it wasn't the place that trapped her, it was her own body. Confined to a bed, unable to lift even an arm, all she could do was stare out the window.

Sometimes, she caught a reflection of someone, a wizened, white haired old woman, lying and staring back at her, toothless mouth gaping and gasping for air, blue eyes rheumy with age and apathy. She didn't know why they had put here next to this decrepit old shell of humanity. She was still young, cut down in her prime by some fool in a car.

And then there were the two old biddies who came to visit. She didn't know them and wished they would go away, never to return. She didn't like strangers. Or nurses. Or doctors. Or orderlies. Or anyone really.

She much preferred to lie here, to stare at the cloudscape and dream of eggshell cottages and gardens of birds.