In preparation for what was to come, there were two black and white outs. Colour drained from each end of the spectrum at the long house, at least to a dip in reality. The house was long from one end to the other with only one room width all the way. At the east end, a toddler in harness got left in the playpen for a fatally long time. On going back in, surprise was taken on. The lesson was left without supervising. A cackle witch with stripy tights came and said so.
Quite soon or a year after, we came back from spending an afternoon in the boathouse where everyone had measles. With the same bedroom, we were treated for a fever. She was floaty and carried off delicate material naturally, but had a loud and surprising snore. For days the door was locked like quarantine, except for going for a poo allowances and with occasional tea and sympathy until the visits got more and more strung out and the tap in the bedroom sink stopped dripping when coaxed.
Though we had potties one time I got bolted to a radiator, but upon being freed it was described back as having had a fever. It meant I couldn’t fetch the tap water for her. Snoring became a wheeze, and her mouth and tongue were all puffed up. We could wait for the doctor Tomorrow, tomorrow and tomorrow. Yet each morrow were assured we were deluded. If a doctor did come it was a dress up one. We swung the bedside table door between our beds, back and forth, back and forth as a game of patience, until her arm gradually stopped and she died as if she hadn’t moved on to becoming a tennis player.