A/N: Written when I was suffering one of my bouts of depression. I’m getting to be worryingly well known for them. It shouldn’t be too hard to work out what’s going on in this story. If it is... well you're silly.

Angelica

Angelica was such a good drawer.

Red was her favourite colour to draw in. She took the pen of her choice and drew deep, bright, beautiful pictures in shining red ink.

‘Angie, oh, God, Angie, Angie, please, put the knife down-‘

Sometimes there was an odd pain as she drew, all across her body and skin, but she had long since learned to ignore the pain. The pictures were so lovely- pictures of another world, where life was good and happy not like this world that a little pain was worth it.

‘Please baby, put the knife down. The psychiatrist said you were getting better- mummy and daddy will make it alright, just please put the knife down.’

But now Angelica wonders if it was so wise… because the red ink is everywhere. Mother and father will be so angry. They tried to stop her drawing, and told her off for it so often. They seem to think the red ink will run out and stain everything.

She sometimes wonders why they got so angry.

The ink would wash away, wouldn’t it?

‘No- please, please, baby, we love you. Please hang on, the doctors are coming…no, please baby, please Angie…’

Angelica feels a little sad now, because mummy and daddy are so upset about the red ink being all over the carpet.

Are they… are they crying?

But the pictures do look very nice…

‘Angie- NO. Please, Angie, don’t go to sleep. Angie please… we love you…’

Angelica was such a good drawer.

---end---