I spot an accelerating ambulance approaching in my rear-view mirror, its blue flashing lights blinding as I pull over to let it pass.

Those short, meaningless seconds are enough to dislodge a single memory from the dusty pile of pain that is stacked someplace in my soul.

I do nothing but sit and stare at my lap; a symphony of tears roll effortlessly in time with the melody of pain in my chest.

She locked me out.

That day.

That, dark, derelict day.

She locked me out of the house.

And her mind.

Doors double bolted.

Telephone receiver lying on the floor.


Empty packets of white and grey pills.


Silent tears.

A bruised and battered heart.

Blue flashing lights.

A rush of unfamiliar voices.

White, sterile walls.

Whizzing by.

Ashen eyes.


A frightened child.

She was the child.

A terrified parent.

I was the parent.

Lost and frightened and terrified.

Fade to black.