The lights were white. White-white as opposed to creamy-white or yellow-white. They made the bed linen vibrate with their brightness and it hurt her to look at the white walls and the pillow was white hot under her head, so she turned slightly to find a cool patch. She couldn’t pull the thin blanket up to snuggle down as it was gripping the far end of the bed with all its might. Even with her eyes closed she could see the white of the room. She could hear voices and strange noises and footsteps. A hot hand held hers. She squinted. ‘Ams… Ams. It’s OK my girl. Mummy’s here.’ The pain in her chest made it very difficult to sit up, so she stopped trying. The coughing was hurting her. And what was that smell? She stopped trying to place the smell. She stopped trying to open her eyes.
Ella Walsworth-Bell and her co-authors have created a debut poetry anthology about sea swimmers, sea swimming, and Cornwall.