By Mike Jackson
It’s getting bigger, the voices louder. I measure the crack, it’s 9mm wider than yesterday. I look through the gap, they’re still there. Even more than yesterday. Every morning, when I do my checks, the voices turn and stare at me. ‘It won’t be long now’, they whisper.
“Mr. Jones! What are you doing? Checking that crack in the plaster again, are you? I told you yesterday, it’s all in hand. I’ve spoken with maintenance, so stop worrying. Now, time for your medication.”
As she pushes the needle into my arm the voices spill through the crack in the wall.