Iris lay in her bed feeling ill. Her eyes had a glazed and strange look, as if she wasn't in the natural world. She couldn't focus, her head hurt. She couldn't stand up or speak but she knew or thought she knew that it was not her illness but the medication that her brother put on her. Medication that was in round patches that she found on her arms or on her back. She thought that her brother was trying to murder her. He is killing me, he is killing me, she thought to herself, then she lost consciousness.
She awoke in her bed. She couldn't remember how she got there. The sun was bright and it was a beautiful morning. Warm.
She got up, put on her clothes, went to use the bathroom and went down the hall to breakfast. She was too early, one of the first ones up. She went out to the garden and sat in a chair by a huge pink rose bush, to wait for the caregivers to bring out the other patients, of which she knew that she was one.
©2009 Wendy Martin
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