As I’m stood up here, for a few split seconds at a time I wonder if I’m doing the right thing. I’m pretty sure I am. These bastards need to learn that they can’t keep fobbing people like me off. They can’t and they won’t. It ends now. Once this hits the news, that’ll show them.
Today I was in there telling the doctor how bad things had got again. For a moment I thought he was going to help me.
‘Here, Jed, take these, you’ll feel much better.’
Brilliant, I thought, some relief from the voices and noise I can never switch off.
As I reached over to take the prescription from the Doctor, he continued.
‘They can take up to two weeks to start working.’ Then he sat back in his chair smiling like he’d actually helped me.
‘Two weeks!? TWO FUCKING WEEKS!’ I yell, standing up.
‘Please, Mr Collins, it is really effective medication,’ he starts to say, but I cut him off with more screaming and shouting.
‘You bastard doctors have no idea, DO YOU!?’
He keeps trying to butt in but I’m not having it and in the end his desk gets turned over. He must have pressed some kind of panic button because before me or the voices have planned our next move a deafening alarm is going off. So I do what I always do when I’m scared – run.
As I belt it back through the waiting room and past reception, people are bottle necking trying to get out. Old, young, women, children,the lot are pushed to the ground as I make my way past them and out into the car park. I can hear sirens so it’s then I decide to head up here, to the roof. By the time I've managed to clamber up, most people have gone back into the surgery. A child sees me, though, and points me out to his mum. She must have told the staff inside because within a few minutes there are nurses, doctors and the braver of the patients all in the car park, all looking up to me.
‘I’ll do it,’ I call down trying to make them scared. If this gets in the press, they’ll be sorry. They’ll have to do something other than dish out pills that don’t work, then. I can see the headlines now: MAN JUMPS FROM DOCTOR’S ROOF AFTER BEING REFUSED TREATMENT.
And it’ll serve them right.
‘Jed, come down from there, we’ll help you,’ one of the nurses calls up to me.
‘How?’ I reply, only to see her starting to confer with the doctor standing next to her. I can’t trust anyone. They’re all liars.
I can see right down the lane from here. The police and the fire brigade are heading down. The voices tell me it’s the right thing to do. So, much to the horror of everyone watching, I just jump.
The landing went as expected.
‘You must be mad,’ says the WPC as she looks down at me hanging half-in and half-out of the hedge I'd aimed to land in.
'I might be mad, but I'm not bloody stupid,' I tell her, looking back up at the single storey doctor’s surgery.
© P Sortwell 2024
Party Politics
Why me? I asked. 'Because you're a Private Investigator. You're discreet. If the film gets into the wrong hands, it would cause me huge embarrassment. I'm sure you can see that, can't you, Mr Geraghty?' Peter Snow smiled at me. A politician's smile. He was wearing a local politician's suit - cheap, but not too cheap. Well groomed. Just enough to say there was something about him, but not enough to intimidate. I told him to call me Joe.
Pied Off - Part 1
George Thompson removed the tray of buns from the oven. The smell that wafted behind the steam that rose from them was intoxicating. You cannot beat the smell of quality bread fresh from the oven, he thought. Looking round the small bakery he was pleased with his days work. All of the cakes, pastries and breads from yesterday had sold out and he had the majority of tomorrow’s stock either chilling or ready for the nightshift lad to bake off later on. He turned as the back door opened and the delivery driver came in smiling.