She watched her reflection in the streams of light filtering through the half closed blinds on her windows. The bed she was lying on felt unstable, as if rocking on the sea, about to pitch over, yet the sheets felt as crushing, cold and lifeless as stone. She imagined, idly, that a poisonous viper had been let loose from the zoo that very day and had slithered in to reach her the same way the light had, and now, it was resting on her, curled tightly around her legs, a tight skirt of emerald scales. That would explain why she could not move them. But then she chuckled at herself, chiding gently, in the place of a nanny, that she should be so silly as to think it was a viper causing that. For many months she had lain here, nauseous and weak, sipping tea and crumbling dry toast beneath her lips tasting nothing but cardboard. She thought she saw the sunlight flicker, just out of the tail of her eye. Her mind returned to the viper, its tail fondling her toes, its little tongue darting out, eyes glowing in her own. It must be getting pretty hungry for a meal by now, she thought. But here she stopped, for she knew she had crawled to deep inside her mind and laughed too loudly into its tunnels, the laughs turning to echoing screams vibrating through her skull. She repressed the trembles that started from her eyebrows, and proceeded to ripple and contort her whole face with fear. Taking a deep breath, she looked for her reflection in the light again, but all she saw was darkness.
Title Quote: Beth Orton, Heart of Soul
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