Morphine
“Child”, she said, “you know I was there. Every day. And one day he got out of bed and ran to the window. Opened it, tried to climb up. I had to hold him back. I had to call for help. I had to stop him. I had to stop him, even though I didn’t know why. I haven’t told this to anyone else. But I was there.”
You can tell me. I’m not affected by these things after all.
I almost don’t remember the day I drove my motorbike carefully on a street not really meant for it, carrying my purse around my waist. It was filled with music …and morphine.
Really, I didn’t flinch at all.
Creepy