Mad (part one)

The big tree in our local park is entirely black now. I can’t quite recollect how this came to be, but I do know it is closely linked with the graffiti on my house and the giant holes in several of my windows. Also, it has something to do with my presence in a great white van, and the hatred I experience every day for my own mother.



It was a blur of bright city lights and black paint. Breaking glass and ornaments and shrieking, terrible shrieking. It sounded like me, but I wasn’t aware of any sound escaping from my wheezing lungs. The first truly whirlwind night on the town I’ve ever had and I only remember segments of the whole thing. First, twirling and spinning and the feel of pavement under my feet mixed with the weight of a spray can in my sweaty palm. Painted pavement mingled with grass and green leaves danced around trees that towered in the sky… the whoosh of paint from can coating the tree till it was something scary and twisted, a completely black tree in the middle of the great wide park and the night that was equally as dark as the tree. The paint stained grass surrounding the charcoal tree cold under my face as I cowered long into the dark night. A man’s face loomed over me. I squinted as the sky ceased its spinning pleasures. His Light hair and eyes shone against the fading night as the sun began its journey to centre sky. He informed in a calm voice as I continued to squint that he was a paramedic, his name was Chris and he was here to save me from myself.



I woke up in bed the next day. I dressed in the jeans I wore a few days ago and made my way downstairs, still groggy from the night before. There, sitting on a chair in the room was the man who had helped me last night. “Hi.” He said quietly as if he knew how much my head was hurting. “Hi?” I said, more like the question: “What are you doing in my living room?” but whatever he did last night, it made me feel a lot better, and I was grateful for it. He extended a hand and said “Chris.” I nodded, closing my eyes for a moment. “Yeah, I know.” I said, still tired. My mother entered the room then and rushed over to me, taking no consideration about my throbbing head. I gave a prolonged wince as she was squeezing me in a vicelike hug. I raised one finger to my lips to try and tell her to shut up in the most polite way possible. “Oh, of course.” She said, dropping her arms from around me. But I still knew she had no clue as to how I was feeling. I staggered over to the lounge and flopped down next to Chris the paramedic. “So, what are you doing here again?” I asked him. My mum gasped and hurriedly apologised on my behalf. “Frannie! Don’t be rude to our guest.” I rolled my eyes and Chris answered me. “Your mother called me. I’m just checking that you’re alright.” he said casually. “You were pretty out of it last night.” Tell me about it. I thought. “Well,” I said, “I’m fine, so you can just be on your way.” I said, giving him a small wave and leaning back into the lounge. He exchanged a look with my mother and looked a little uncomfortable. “Actually, Frannie…” he began, but I cut him off. “Don’t call me Frannie.” I snapped. He continued, paying no attention to my outburst. “I think it would be best if you came with me.” he said, standing up. my eyes widened. “What for?” I asked, on the edge of outrage. He extended a hand. “Please.” He implored. I looked over at mum for some sort of assistance. “Francesca, go with the man.” She said, looking quickly at the floor. “But..” I stuttered. BUT WHAT?! My head screamed. You painted a tree in a public park, you broke windows! You have no reason not to leave! There is something definitely wrong with you. GO WITH THE MAN! I Closed my eyes for a brief minute. “’Kay” I said softly, and took Chris’s hand. He helped me off the lounge. Although I had voluntarily left with him, I was still amazingly pissed at my mother for calling him up. “Bye-Bye, Baby.” She said quietly. Lies. She wasn’t sad. She was happy to get rid of me. I could tell. And her “Bye-Bye Baby” was nothing more than quoting song lyrics.



I got into a strangely familiar white van and buckled my seat belt. The van roared off and I stared out the window. The silence was electric. Neither one of us said a thing. Just then I was hit with an amazing amount of… remorse. WHY DID I GET IN THIS CAR?! I started to cry silently and I felt sick in the stomach. This was single worst moment of my life. The road stretched in front of us, and we were in the van for over half an hour. This closed up any possibilities of escaping from my destination and running home.

“I-I’ve changed my mind.” I stammered, hoping somehow that one small statement would help my cause. “I wanna go home.” He sighed, still keeping his eyes on the road.

“Francesca, all we want to do is help you,” he said, trying to be careful as he spoke. “We –“

But I cut him off.

“What’s all this ‘we’ crap, anyway, huh?” I was getting slightly angry, although I felt an all too familiar shiver up my spine. He sighed again, but had no answer.

“I wanna go home.” I said again, feeling tears seep out my eyes. Perhaps, like Dorothy, I could click my heels together three times and then I’d wake up, in my bed, surrounded by people who cared about me. But right then, I felt like no one in the world cared about me. Maybe that’s why I was so rude to the Chris guy.

“Who are you anyway?” I asked.

“I’m Chris.” He said simply, and shrugged his shoulders.

And I rolled my eyes.

“I KNOW that.” I moaned. “But what do you do? How did you get to be there? Why were you in a park at midnight last night? Why should you care less about me? …WHY AM I IN YOUR CAR?!” I asked the last question loudest of all.

“I have a degree in Adolescent Psychology, I’m a certified Psychiatrist, I’m a paramedic on the side, so I’ve done some ambulance training…” he said, still driving, eyes on he road.

“I went to university and that’s how I got there, I was in a park due to my Paramedic-ness, seeing if I could find any distressed little people to help.” At that point he took his eyes off the road and looked at me. His eyes were really quite nice. “I care about you because you deserve more than being branded ‘crazy’ by the public for the rest of your life, and, most of all, you are in my car, because I’m trying to help you. You are in this car because deep down inside you know you need some help. Are you going to let me help you?” he asked.

I only had one response.

“…I wanna go home.” And I was silent for the rest of the trip.





Eventually, the van shook to a stop and I opened my eyes, not wanting to look at where I was. So I kept my eyes on the floor of the car. “Francesca?” Asked Chris, with a hand on my shoulder. “I was kidding about the not calling me Frannie thing.” I murmured, not moving my eyes. “That’s okay.” He said, with a slight laugh in his voice. “Why don’t you look at where we are?” he asked me. I shook my head and the small beads in my fringe rattled. “Come on.” He said. “It‘ll be easier if you read the sign.” He said. I slowly looked up, and Printed on the door was Greenwich Adolescent Psychiatric Hospital. My eyes were as wide as they could be. “Oh, no way.” I said, only half believing that I actually deserved to be here. I shook my head again and briefly covered my eyes, then I looked at the door again. “You can’t be serious.” I said, laughing. The look on the paramedic’s face told me that he wasn’t, and my mouth dropped open. ‘You’re serious.” I said vaguely, staring at the doors. Somehow I knew that he’d take me to a place like this. “I have to go in there, don’t I?” I asked, and he nodded. I said nothing, and the car was silent and motionless for at least a minute. “We need to get out of the car now.” He said gently. I nodded. “I know.” I said, but I didn’t move. “but I don’t want to.” Chris had lest the car and was walking around to my side. He opened the door and offered me his hand.

“I’m scared.” I murmured and shook my head, feeling my beads rattle again. “I don’t want to go in there.” I closed my eyes. “If I do I’ll never get out again.” I said shakily.

“Oh..” he said, full of sympathy. “Yes you will.” He stepped into full view. “ I have no doubts about that.”

I opened my eyes and peered at him. He extended his hand again, and this time I took it.

I stepped onto the pavers and squinted at the sunlight. He gave me a small smile and I had the courage to walk towards the entrance of the hospital.

The doors opened and a rush of cold air blasted my face.

There was a metal detector set up like in an airport, and just like an airport, I had to take everything off that could be ‘potentially dangerous.’ My belt. My necklace. Bracelets. Earrings.

Someone reached for my watch, but I ripped my hand away.

The woman sighed. “You’ll get it back.” She said tiredly.

I reluctantly took it off my wrist.

I stepped through the detector.

Nothing. Hmm, must be broken, as there definitely something metal on my body that hadn’t given me away, and that was my metal tongue stud. I looked around at the white corridors and the polished tiles and suddenly felt very cold. Not cold as in temperature wise, although the air con was definitely too much, but cold that you feel when you’re scared. You get goose pimples and the hair stands up on the back of your neck, and you just feel… Freaked out. Nurses and people in white coats bustled about, and occasionally, a kid my age was ushered about the place. At that moment, right then, I realised that Chris had disappeared. I instantly felt very alone and scared. WHERE DID HE GO?! I looked around and a Nurse approached me and started to lead me away. Then she put me into a room that looked like a doctor’s office. DOY! It looked like a doctor’s office because it was a doctor’s office!

The nurse told me to sit on the bench. I did so, swinging my legs and looking around, still creeped out by the whole ambiance of the place.

Just then, a man walked in. He had brown hair, glasses. He was wearing a white coat on top of brown pants, a white button up shirt, and a dark blue and white tie.

He was examining a clipboard, his brow furrowed, eyes darting back and forth.

“hello.” He said in a dry, businesslike tone.

He looked at the clipboard.

“Frannie?” he asked.

“Frannie to my friends.” I said.

“Francesca?” he asked me.

“Maybe you shouldn’t talk to me at all, then.”