Today's Lyrics:
Come and open up your folding chair next to me.
My feet are buried in the sand and there's a breeze.
There is a shadow, you can't see my eyes.
And the sea is just a wetter version of the skies.

Folding Chair- Regina Spektor



His mother's not crying today. The doctor notes. It's almost as if she's given up hope. She shouldn't. There's a chance he might pull through. A very slim chance, about one in a million, but a chance all the same. He's her son for goodness sake. Surely she can't have stopped believing in him already?

He watches from the nurse's bay as she stands up and picks up her coat and bag and steps toward the bed. She places a caring hand on his cheek, a gesture like one you would aim at a distant relative, before turning and leaving. She doesn't shed a single tear, like normal. She doesn't kiss his forehead, like normal. She doesn't speak to him, like normal, and she doesn't stop and linger by his door, like normal. The doctor holds a fleeting suspicion that she may not be returning.

As he calls out her name, she doesn't stop. She doesn't turn. He's checked his watch and realised she's only been here ten minutes, instead of all day, like normal.

It confirms his suspicions. She's not coming back.


[Okay, so this is a small extract from by BIG PROJECT that I wrote in science today. (: Opinions and concrit is greatly appreciated. Please consider that this is only a first draft, and links on from another section. (:]