A Mother, NOT a Fruit!

“My name is Victoria Plumm; no jokes please. My daughter, Miley has been undergoing some… how can I put it… difficulties of late. Uncle George calls it a ‘temporary loss of cool’ which I think is much kinder than ’ breakdown’.”

“It all started when she began to see things: pink clouds on the ‘lawn’ outside her window. We live in a large grey concrete tower block with a ‘charming’ view of urban sprawl outside our bedroom windows. No lawns. No clouds… at least, not pink ones.”

“Mrs Plumm?” A hospital attendant broke into Victoria’s conversation (monologue?). “Yes?”

“The consultant, Mr Simpson, is ready for you to go in now. This way, please”. Victoria follows the attendant into a small, clinical room. Miley is lying in the bed surrounded by various medical and psychological experts.

“All right, let’s clear the room”, Mr Simpson commands. “Give Mrs Plumm some space.”

“Hello”. Miley doesn’t seem to understand what Victoria’s saying. Her confused expression shows she doesn’t recognise her own mother.

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