Benedict walks from
the men's dormitory
into the lounge of the
locked ward passing

the night nurse still
on duty in her small
office. Yiska is sitting
on the black sofa smoking

a  cigarette, a packet
of cigarettes on the small
coffee table with a plastic
lighter. She looks up when

he enters and says, Want
a cigarette? Thanks, he says
and takes one from the
packet and lights up, and

sits beside her on the sofa.
He's dressed in a dressing
gown over his pyjamas; she's
in a pink nightgown over

what he can't see, and looks
over towards the window
showing early dawn sky
and trees. Life goes on out

there, she says, while we're
stuck in here like ******
Humpty Dumpty's. Benedict
nods and says, And all the

king's horses and all the
king's men can't put us
together again. Silly nursery
rhyme that is, she says, how

can ****** horses put you
together again? even these
****** quacks can't do it
so I'm sure horses can't.

She inhales on the cigarette.
Benedict looks at her beside
him. How did you get in here?
he asks. I was jilted by my

so called fiancé at the altar
and I had mental breakdown,
she says after exhaling smoke
into the lounge. You? she asks.

Tried to stab myself, he says,
so they brought me here, then
I tried to hang myself, so they
locked me in here sans belts

or laces. You tried to hang
yourself in the bogs, didn't you
while here? He nods. Yes, I
borrowed one of the others'

dressing gown belt, he says.
****** persistent aren't you?
she says, smiling. He nods. Now
I'm watched like a blue-arsed

fly round a birthday cake. Did
you have the ECTs? she asks.
He nods and looks at her thigh
showing through the gap of her

gown. Not any good apart from
a headache, he says. I hate them,
she says, I'd rather slit my wrists
and be done with. She inhales

deeply and looks at him. She
takes in his hazel eyes and quiff
of hair and haunted look about
his eyes. Something, he says,

within us dies. Or's killed, she
replies, in a sad voice with a
dark depth to her gazing eyes.