Read Online The Brilliant Light of Amber Sunrise by Matthew Crow - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Matthew Crow
Ads: Link
want to talk about, Francis, ever, Iâm here.â
I stopped folding my third best pair of boxers and jammed them in the case.
âI know,â I said, but could feel my voice wobbling and my throat getting tighter. âI donât know why everyone keeps telling me things I know. Iâm clever enough to realize them for myself. I understand everythingââ Now my eyes were watering and my throat scratched with each syllable. âI just wish people would stop treating me like I was stupid and let me get on with my packing!â I said, and knocked the case to the floor.
Mum looked shocked. I am renowned as the pacifist within the family. Conflict is normally beyond me.
She went to pick up the case, then thought better of it. Instead she just grabbed me and held me tight against her. At first I tried to fight her off, but resistance was futile.
I sat down on the bed, crying hard into her shoulder, and she lay back. I felt my face get redder and redder. I was choking on tears. Each time I tried to say something they washed over the words like the tide around a drowning man.
I must have nodded off sometime soon after, because when I woke up it was morning and I was in bed. My case had been packed too, and even I had to admit Mum had done an all right job of it.
The teenage unit was not like other parts of the hospital. For a start there was a chill-out room attached, which looked like the sort of thing housemates were rewarded with on Big Brother. It had a TV the size of a small car, and everygames console that ever existed. There was even a vending machine and two comfy sofas. They looked out of place in a hospital setting, like the relative who turns up to a funeral in a tracksuit. Also everyone there was a little bit more cheery than anywhere else, which I found immediately suspicious given the circumstances.
âHiya, darling, you find us all right out in the west wing?â Jackie said when Mum and I made our way inside. The ward was at the farthest edge of the hospital, practically in a different postcode. Iâd had to sit down once on the way in because I was feeling shaky and out of breath. Mum refused my request for a wheelchair. She was always more stick than carrot.
Jackie probably had some fancy job title but she was essentially head of the nursing team. She said everyone on the ward answered to her, and that if I stuck with her sheâd see me right. Everyone there treated you like a paying guest and made sure to use your name at least twice in any conversation. They didnât remember it because they liked you. It was conveniently printed out on a laminated sheet at the foot of the bed.
âTraffic was a nightmare but we got here in the end,â Mum said. She was normally much sharper than that. It seemed small talk was the first thing to suffer under stress.
âNothing worse. Do you want something to eat, flower? Lunch isnât for a while yet but I could scavenge you some toast?â Jackie asked me.
I said I did not, and started unpacking on the bed that we had been shown to on arrival.
âWell, Iâll let you get settled in and be along shortly to see how youâre getting on,â she said, and left us to it.
Another thing that grated on me was that the atmosphere on the ward seemed worryingly informal. Everyone, except for the occasional doctor, introduced themself by their first name. I did not appreciate this touch. It was the same at school. In Senior Year apparently you got to call teachers by their first names. This thought had already caused me some anguish. Sue is not someone who once caught me looking at the rude bits of Sons and Lovers and sent me out for not paying attention to the lesson; Mrs. Bancroft is. The whole situation in the unit made me uneasy and caused me to question the legitimacy of my carersâ credentials. Marc had muscles and a tattoo that poked out beneath one sleeve of his tunic. I assumed he was given his job as
I stopped folding my third best pair of boxers and jammed them in the case.
âI know,â I said, but could feel my voice wobbling and my throat getting tighter. âI donât know why everyone keeps telling me things I know. Iâm clever enough to realize them for myself. I understand everythingââ Now my eyes were watering and my throat scratched with each syllable. âI just wish people would stop treating me like I was stupid and let me get on with my packing!â I said, and knocked the case to the floor.
Mum looked shocked. I am renowned as the pacifist within the family. Conflict is normally beyond me.
She went to pick up the case, then thought better of it. Instead she just grabbed me and held me tight against her. At first I tried to fight her off, but resistance was futile.
I sat down on the bed, crying hard into her shoulder, and she lay back. I felt my face get redder and redder. I was choking on tears. Each time I tried to say something they washed over the words like the tide around a drowning man.
I must have nodded off sometime soon after, because when I woke up it was morning and I was in bed. My case had been packed too, and even I had to admit Mum had done an all right job of it.
The teenage unit was not like other parts of the hospital. For a start there was a chill-out room attached, which looked like the sort of thing housemates were rewarded with on Big Brother. It had a TV the size of a small car, and everygames console that ever existed. There was even a vending machine and two comfy sofas. They looked out of place in a hospital setting, like the relative who turns up to a funeral in a tracksuit. Also everyone there was a little bit more cheery than anywhere else, which I found immediately suspicious given the circumstances.
âHiya, darling, you find us all right out in the west wing?â Jackie said when Mum and I made our way inside. The ward was at the farthest edge of the hospital, practically in a different postcode. Iâd had to sit down once on the way in because I was feeling shaky and out of breath. Mum refused my request for a wheelchair. She was always more stick than carrot.
Jackie probably had some fancy job title but she was essentially head of the nursing team. She said everyone on the ward answered to her, and that if I stuck with her sheâd see me right. Everyone there treated you like a paying guest and made sure to use your name at least twice in any conversation. They didnât remember it because they liked you. It was conveniently printed out on a laminated sheet at the foot of the bed.
âTraffic was a nightmare but we got here in the end,â Mum said. She was normally much sharper than that. It seemed small talk was the first thing to suffer under stress.
âNothing worse. Do you want something to eat, flower? Lunch isnât for a while yet but I could scavenge you some toast?â Jackie asked me.
I said I did not, and started unpacking on the bed that we had been shown to on arrival.
âWell, Iâll let you get settled in and be along shortly to see how youâre getting on,â she said, and left us to it.
Another thing that grated on me was that the atmosphere on the ward seemed worryingly informal. Everyone, except for the occasional doctor, introduced themself by their first name. I did not appreciate this touch. It was the same at school. In Senior Year apparently you got to call teachers by their first names. This thought had already caused me some anguish. Sue is not someone who once caught me looking at the rude bits of Sons and Lovers and sent me out for not paying attention to the lesson; Mrs. Bancroft is. The whole situation in the unit made me uneasy and caused me to question the legitimacy of my carersâ credentials. Marc had muscles and a tattoo that poked out beneath one sleeve of his tunic. I assumed he was given his job as
Similar Books
