The pills

The pills

A Story by Lauren

If I am crazy then so be it.


Sitting on my patchwork beige fabric recliner chair, cup of tea close to my lips, I can feel the warmth from inside the cup hugging me from the inside as I breathe in its sweet smell. I watch the lady in the blue uniform walk through the threshold into my living room. I recognise her face but cannot remember her name, she is petite with medium length blonde hair, a kind smile and a pointy nose.

She takes the cup from my hands and places it on the table next to my chair.

“Come on Mrs Smith, we need to get you washed and dressed”. She smiles sweetly at me. The carer stood in front of me and presses some buttons attached to my chair that helps me to stand up. She guides me out of the living room and into the hallway suddenly a flash of black crosses my vision like the earth has swallowed me up.  I hazily become aware I lying on the floor with the carer crouched beside me asking if I am alright. I can feel something warm and sticky running down my face. Lifting a shaky hand to my forehand, I feel a sharp shooting pain run through my skull like I’ve been electrocuted, that’s when I realise I have fallen and hit my head and now I am bleeding.

“I’m going to call you an ambulance Mrs Smith. Please stay there, okay.” She ran off to the telephone in the kitchen. My whole body aches as I try to get up. I can’t just lay here. This isn’t how I want people seeing me, on the floor in my nightwear.   I could hear whispered voices in the other room.

“Yes of course I will. Okay. Bye.” The carer walked back into the hallway with a towel in her hand. She gives it to me and guides my hand to where I’m bleeding.

“An ambulance will be here soon Mrs Smith, just stay calm.”

An ambulance has arrived and I have agreed to be taken into hospital for a check up.  I don’t like ambulances, they’re bumpy and noisy, but as least it was a short journey and now I’m here to be checked over.  I have a very friendly nurse looking after me and apart from a few bumps and bruises, he said I’m well enough to go home.  The hospital has called my lovely son, who is kindly coming to pick me up this afternoon. 

My son is now here, my beautiful, sweet baby boy.  He went to collect my new tablets from another department.  Another nurse has come over to speak to me; she is wearing a different uniform from the others and is asking a lot of questions.  “Have you ever had black outs before?” “What did you do last week?” “What did you have for tea last night?” I kept thinking to myself, why are you asking these sorts of questions, there is nothing wrong with me.  The nurse went over to my son when he came back with my medication. They were whispering to each other, the nurse went off and brought back a little white paper bag and gave it to my son.  I’m not quite sure what they were speaking about.

A few days had passed. My son has stayed with me for a few days, but he is going home today.  He has told the carer how many and how often I take my tablets and told her that I am on bed rest for the rest of the week.  After he said his goodbyes to me, my son has now gone to speak to the carer again before leaving.  They are outside my room, the door is closed and I can hear hushed, muffled voices.   I don’t like whispering. What are they talking about?

I just heard the front door click shut, so I know my son has gone home.  The carer has now come into my room holding a little china saucer, with different sized and coloured tablets on it. “Time for your medication Mrs Smith.” “What is this little green one?” I ask, pointing to it. “It’s to help you get better.” She replied with a smile on her face.  My brain is telling me to trust this lady, but my gut is screaming at me that there is something very off about her.  I pop the tablet into my mouth and the carer hands me a glass of water.  “I’m off now Mrs Smith, see you tomorrow.” I close my eyes and let the darkness envelop me. I hear the click of the door as the carer leaves just before sleep takes over.

A strange noise wakes me from my slumber. The room is dark and I know its night time. Looking to my left, the clock reads 12.05pm. I hear footsteps down the hall. Why is someone in my house at this time of night?  I slowly roll to the edge of my bed and pull myself up into a seated position then to stand, thankful that I am not as fragile as I was a few days ago. I take little steps so as to not make too much noise and reach the door to the kitchen. That lady with the blonde hair is in my kitchen with her back to me. She rattles a small tub and little pods click back into place. She places a small box with individual pockets back into my top cupboard. I must hide! Quickly but quietly I walk into the next room and hide behind the door. The lady’s footsteps scurry back to the front door, it squeaks as she closes it behind her. Why the hell was she in my house at 12pm? What was she doing in my kitchen? I have to find out what she was doing. I walk into the kitchen and reach for the box she put in the top cupboard.  It’s my medication. There are white tablets, I assume for the pain and little blue ones. What are these...? What is it called again?  Blue! That’s it blue ones.  I thought I had green ones, but there are no green tablets in here. I place the box back on the shelf.  

Two weeks have passed since the blonde girl came into my house unexpectedly. She comes every day as normal, helps me wash, helps me with breakfast and gives me my tablets. Every day I take the three white ones and a little green tablet. The young girl tells me the green one is to help me get better but I don’t feel like I’m getting better, in fact I feel worse, I don’t feel myself.  Night and day melds together and I can feel myself getting weaker.

When my son visited me last week, there was something very wrong with him. He is a kind, loving person but he seemed overly nice and a little too helpful. When he gave me my medication there was a pale coloured one I had never seen before. I questioned it but he told me it’s the same medication I have always been having. What is happening? I know that there wasn’t a pale coloured one. There are three white and one blue. The blue one is to help me get better. Are they? Is my son and that carer tampering with my medication?

That night there is someone in my kitchen again. My clock reads 12.05pm. I hide behind my bedroom door and see the blonde girl walking down the corridor and out my front door. I walk into my kitchen and reach for my medication. Some of the boxes are empty. She has taken my medication!  Why would she do that? Is she trying to make me ill? I’m going to phone this care company. She can’t keep coming into my house at this time of the night and interfere my tablets.

The next morning when she comes in, I am sitting in my chair. She says her hellos before walking into the kitchen to collect my medication. She immediately comes back into the living room. “Mrs Smith, have you taken any medication today?” I shake my head. No because you took them last night She walks back into the kitchen. I can hear her on the phone and flipping through paperwork. She must be talking to my son. They are plotting against me. Trying to kill me!

“Mrs Smith, we aren’t going to give you any medication today as we don’t want to overdose you. Here is a glass of water and there is a sandwich in the fridge for your tea. I’ll see you tomorrow morning.” She leaves. I grab the phone from my side table and dial of the office. I need to talk to someone. I have to tell someone that they are trying to kill me.

“Good morning, Lilly speaking. How can I help?” She seems young and has a friendly voice. “The lady who comes to my house, she is taking my medication. She and my son are trying to kill me. She comes into my house gone midnight and is taking my medication!” I am speaking very quickly. “Mrs Smith, please calm down. You said the carer is coming into your house and is tampering with your medication?” “That’s exactly what I am saying! I’m not crazy!” “Mrs Smith, I am going to have to talk to the senior for your area and I will call you back ok” I wait for what seems like hours. I start to panic but I feel so weak. I can barely move and my eyes are drifting. I am able to pick up the phone and dial again. The kind voice is back on the phone again. “I feel weak and I don’t feel myself. The carer is messing with my medication. They are going to kill me” She tries to reassure me but I start crying and put the phone down. I need to lie down. I shuffle to my room and sit on my bed. There is a glass of water on the night stand. I take the notepad and write a letter addressed to my son. When finished I place the pad next to my glass. I pick up the phone and dial the office again and I am greeted by the same young lady. “Tell my son I love him. Tell him there is a letter on my nightstand for him.  No one believes me that this lady is coming into my house and trying to kill me. They think I’m crazy.” I can hear myself getting tearful again “No one thinks you are crazy Mrs Smith.” “Please just tell my son I love him.” I put the phone back on the hook.

I sit back so I am against the headboard. I take a sip of the cool water and reach for the medication from a dish on my nightstand and pop it into my mouth.

© 2016 Lauren

Author's Note

Apologies if there are any grammatical errors, there is a deliberate error. I wrote this in my creative writing class, please tell me what you think. I would love to know what you thought happened at the end

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Added on February 14, 2016
Last Updated on February 14, 2016
Tags: mystery, psycological



United Kingdom

I am re-studying my GCSE's and during this have been writing descriptive and creative writing. more..