The Writings of Mary Lewys

With all its tasty greenness, she drinks the cough syrup. She doesn’t have a cold. It makes her sleepy and she has to get back. Her daughter will be so lost.

Only up a few hours, she drives like a maniac to the store to buy more. And a box of sleeping pills, but she has to be careful with those. Last time, her neighbor called the ambulance when she wouldn’t respond. She woke up in the hospital where a lot of annoyances interfered with her sleep.

But she is home now, crawling beneath the covers. Curling around her body pillow, she closes her eyes as she squeezes the stuffing tight. It won’t be long now. She has to get back to her daughter. They were playing in a toy store when the damn phone rang and wouldn’t stop.
Solicitor. She broke the phone.

Mommy! Sweeping her up, she feels so real. It all feels so real, as real as she wants. She wants it real because she misses her daughter so much. Can we play again, Mommy? Please?

Yes, dear. For four to six hours.

(c) Mary Lewys, 2005