- SERAPHINE
The routine was a slow, suffocating poison.
Every morning and every night, Lorraine would march into the room with that little paper cup. Two white pills, one blue capsule. The "peace" they wanted to force-feed me.
I became an expert at the act of it. I’d tip my head back, let the dry chemicals sit under my tongue, and swallow the water with a convincing gulp. I’d even give her a tired, compliant smile.
The second she left, and the door clicked shut, I’d bolt for the bathroom. In the corner of the blind spot, I’d spit the bitter remains into the toilet and watch them swirl away down the flush.
Stay sharp, I’d tell myself, staring at the stranger in the mirror. Don’t let the fog in.
The face staring back at me in the mirror still looked like a stranger, covered in stitche
