47 Megan
For the first time in as long as I can remember, I’m thinking clearly. I stand up and walk across to the other side of the kitchen, the dried blood sticking my feet to the floor. I rummage through the stack of bills and unopened letters for a sheet of paper. There aren’t any plain sheets, so I make do with a couple of opened envelopes.
I pick up a pen and begin to scribble down my thoughts. I’m not sure they make any sense at all, but right now that doesn’t matter. I need to get this out of my head and onto paper, so somebody else can read it. They’ll have all the time in the world to try and make sense of it. I don’t have that luxury.
The pen moves quickly across the paper. I barely recognise my own handwriting. It’s a mish-mash of thoughts and probably mis-spelled words. It d
