It’s called a care home.
It’s never been a home. Care is but a mission statement, a corporate philosophy, a paper-thin reassurance to those that need to believe, who need to trust.
The worker straps a pirate hat to me. I’ve learnt not to struggle with them, but sometimes my mind is absent. I immediately regret my resistance.
“Put the hat on, Terrance, you old git,” the female says, as the male grins, pressing me down, “it’s for your benefit, you know, nobody likes this charade.”
Was I this arrogant at their age? The elderly were born old, and never lived.
Prising my mouth open, they force-feed me the pills to keep me sedated and compliant.
My memories will soon fade with my being. Not long now.
I am on a shore, overlooking an ocean of flotsam – personal irrelevance, forgotten memories and loss. Through the detachment of medication, I dream…new lands, pirates, freedom and the endless waves.
Results to follow.
I felt happy with the story. It certainly was emotional to write and it’s a subject that has been bothering me for some time. Feedback as been wonderful – but then the Flash! Friday community are like that.
*Update 27/08/14: I didn’t place with this, but a few people said they thought it stood a good chance of winning. There are no bad stories or writers on Flash! Friday – so anyone can win and I’m delighted for those that got picked, it’s a fantastic feeling. The main thing is that I’m happy with my work (which is a bog bonus) and it connected with many readers, and this is truly priceless – thank you.