[Jean can sense what you're doing, Mira, but she doesn't move to stop it.]
Are we all being labelled?
[She's sitting in a hospital room. It's nice enough; it's airy and spacious and smells of flowers. There are armchairs and cushions and a television she's not paying attention to.
She's hunched over the bed, hands clasping small, pale fingers.
"I got better, Annie. You can get better, too. Please?"
Her words are low and soft and aching, and when her vision blurs with her tears, she thinks she can see a graveyard.]
no subject
Are we all being labelled?
[She's sitting in a hospital room. It's nice enough; it's airy and spacious and smells of flowers. There are armchairs and cushions and a television she's not paying attention to.
She's hunched over the bed, hands clasping small, pale fingers.
"I got better, Annie. You can get better, too. Please?"
Her words are low and soft and aching, and when her vision blurs with her tears, she thinks she can see a graveyard.]