The Eleventh Hour

Anne 'A New Beginning'

​

"So why are you here Annette?" the man shifts in the over sized leather chair and grips his clip board, watching her with scrutiny.
Anne shrugs and hunches over, letting her loose, dark curls fall into her eyes. This is the fifth session and she has mastered the silent, tormented patient act which seems to frustrate the psychiatrist, as if he knows she is playing with him.
"We can do this again, or"- he pauses for affect- "you can tell me everything and get it over with. Your friends have told me everything, no point hiding it" his words a lathered with sweetness, trying to lure anyone into a false sense of comfort, but his eyes told otherwise. Anne scoffs at his lie. No way they told, they are smarter then that. Besides, they would be in the psychiatric unit by now.
"Come now Anne, I think we both know you are able to talk." He bends forward to retrieve his coffee. Anne can feel his stare as he takes a long sip. It was exasperating, the long slurp, the crunch of the slightly soggy cup. Anne flinches. She hasn't spoken to anyone in days as she is forbidden from visiting the others. She felt her thoughts turning into conversations, every sound surrounding her magnifies to an overwhelming annoyance.
"What do you want to know?" Anne's voice croaked and she almost surprises herself, forgetting what her voice sounded like.
His expression is momentarily surprised before it regains it's professional profile. He looks at his blank clip board and begins to scribble something down in sharp cursive that is impossible to read.
"Start from the beginning" he says, as if this pin pointed anything that Anne could use.
"Well, it all started October 4th in the back of an ambulance- she is cut off by a sharp sigh. He obviously didn't appreciate the humour she had developed
"Lets start at the morning of the day of you arrival at the camp, hmm?"

***

Today was the first day of 'the rest of her life'. That's what the brochure's slogan read anyway. The camp was supposed to be 'fun' according to her uncle. But the rumours of it being a disciplinary camp for troubled children suggested otherwise.

She swung her seemingly empty duffle over her shoulder and capered down the freshly polished stairs. Why they bother polishing the stairs is a mystery, she pondered. The most use this house gets is when it's being cleaned. The walls were covered in expensive, gold trimmed frames, which showed off a happy family. They displayed perfect smiles and designer clothing. Anne was absent from the photos of course-would hate to ruin the family image. Not that she wanted to be part of that family. She reached the marble floors but was stopped by a petite girl (don't let size fool you). A plaid skirt and matching blazer draped her curve-less figure.
"Not so fast, Annette," her cousin sneered. Anne scowled at the enunciation of of her full name. Her father had chosen it and she despised it entirely for that reason.
The girl's soft brown curls rested on her shoulders ever so perfectly. My deep hatred for this girl seemed to reach whatever metaphorical fiery pits I held within. This girl made my life more of a misery than it already was. Whatever was left of the good mood she had woken up with had shrivelled into nothingness. I wanted nothing more than one day without any painful reminders of her afflicted life.
"What do you want Grace?" she asked through gritted teeth.
"I just wanted to say good luck on your camp," she answered in a tune that sounded like honey was being drizzled down her throat. She patted me on the shoulder, which made me tense up. Her well-manicured fingers wrapped around her neck. Anne's heartbeat quickened as memories of her mother flooded through me.

Anne looked up at her mother's gentle face. She smiled which made all Anne's worries float away like a gentle breeze had suddenly come through the tiny apartment window and taken all the stress and hurt from their family. Shouting was heard from down stairs and then gunshots. They echoed through the corridors of the apartments and Anne was sure that everyone could hear it.
Anne's mother looked at the door, her smile fading.
"What's wrong mummy?" Anne asked, tugging at her mother's cardigan.
'Nothing sweetie, just head to your room, everything is going to be all right," she said.