rub

It's not epilepsy, it's fright.

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Copyright © 2016, Michael M Wayman

She was screaming. Mary was having another fit; she was lying on the floor kicking the air with her legs and arms. Three women were rubbing her arms and legs.

“Here, grab hold of this spare leg and get rubbing.”

“But I don't know how to massage...”

“No massage, just rub. Mary needs it. It's not epilepsy, it's fright.”

“What's she frightened about? There's nothing here...”

“Just look at her eyes, she is scared silly, she can see things you cannot see, she is not here, she is surrounded by terrible demons who want to eat her. That's why we rub her.”

“That's why...”

“She cannot see us, that's why we rub her arms and legs, we are communicating with her. We are telling her that we are here, that we want her and that we want her back.”

Gradually she came back to us and the look of terror left her eyes. She smiled weakly at me. I think that she liked me.



Have you read my army and Mrs Tups?