Humming an untitled tune, thin fingers thread their way through her blonde waves. Sitting on her lap was her untouched, lukewarm meal that was left forgotten. Much like the nurse standing and watching the woman.

 "Aren't you hungry Miss Tatter?" Despite the obvious sugarcoating over her words, crankiness and frustration was in her voice.

For a moment, she stopped her continuous routine, before smiling pleasantly at the nurse. "But my hair needs a good brushing and I won't stop until I'm done." And her fingers went on to comb out the tangles of her hair.

It was always like this. The nurses would come with her meals and then stand there for a good ten minutes, watching her sing or hum. It was always like this since she came here.

When was the first time she did this? Maybe three months ago? No, maybe four. Time started to mean nothing to her as the nights pasted and the meaningless interrogations went on.

Huffing out hot air, the nurse left the room, muttering on her way out much like a child. Many of them acted like children, really. Big children with toys that put her to sleep when she made them mad; children with too much power over the insane.

Before the door closed, unnaturally pale hands darted for the spoon and began eating greedily. She was crazy, not stupid. If she was going starve, she might as well stave to death because she was denied food and not refused it.

Dabbing the napkin at her chin, she stared at door, wondering if there was going to be a repeat performance of last night.

Long, overgrown hair laid out on the bed as the green-eyed women kept still and awake. Sleeping was hard for her at the moment as Margaret listened to noises from outside her door.

Someone was moving, carefully and cautiously. It was unusual, especially for the workers. And it was dark out, maybe it was night too, but she could never tell. Days at the asylum could be unnaturally dark.

"Maybe a patient got out?"The thought was quite doubtful, especially since most of them(the patients) would go, running, and screaming down the halls instead sneaking in the dark.

After a while of listening, her keen ears heard no more movement and the end of this person's near-silent walk in the halls had come.

Margaret had hoped there would be a repeat. It was be nice too, who knows who ever it was could come in and join her for tea. She'd like that, very much.

The End

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