I'm getting a bit annoyed now. Pushkin still haven't sent me a letter back! It's been two weeks! >:(
Dorothy - Part 2
Dorothy blinked and she was suddenly in the world of the present. She looked hurriedly around her. She was in the kitchen. Why, she didn’t know. She sighed and sat slowly down on a chair. She remembered how those few tests had turned into a diagnosis and the diagnosis into a nightmare. She sighed again and hauled herself off the chair, before stumbling into the living room.
The mantelpiece was littered with pictures of her late husband, Tommy. His face shone like a beacon of hope from the pictures and in despair she turned to them for help.
Tommy had been at home when she got the diagnosis. She vaguely remembered the shock on his face when she told him. It was devastating watching his old, wrinkled face crumple with pain and sadness. He recovered quickly, though, and he soon became her guardian angel, always there to care for her.
He had died a year ago, of natural causes. Since his death, Dorothy had seen no point in living and her sadness ate away at the only memories she had left. In her lucid moments, she realised she was becoming an empty shell and it terrified her. She needed someone to care for her. She needed to be back with Tommy. Wheeling around, she made her way back into the kitchen, before suddenly grabbing a knife and heading for the bathroom.
Halfway along the short hall in her house, Dorothy forgot where she was going. She looked around wildly and noticed the shining knife in her hand. She dropped it, watching it fall, as if in slow motion.
She heard a small crack and a fountain of blood sprung from the arch of her foot, spraying blood all over the carpet and the walls. She yelped in pain and hopped madly on one foot, losing her balance and crashing to the floor. She heard her fragile hip crack. The pain was unbearable.
She crawled slowly, whimpering in pain, into the living room, leaving a trail of bright blood on the carpet. She reached up, pulling on the phone cord, sending the handset crashing to the ground. She picked up the phone and looked at it dumbly, until she saw the list of numbers sellotaped onto the side of the phone. She picked out the one word she recognized from the blurred jumble – Ambulance. Slowly, she dialled the number, wincing in pain.
“Which service, please?”
“Hello, which service please?”
Dorothy, unable to answer, felt her eyes blur and slowly, everything went black.