top of page

Dr Who?

‘Classic case’, I think. The woman is in her fifties; grey bob, smart specs, silk blouse.

It’s the eyes that give her away: glazed, frightened, like a bird in a box.

“Forgetfulness?” She nods. “Panic? Brain fog?” Tick, tick.

I chew the end of my pen; she copies. I’ve been doing this long enough to know the signs. Dementia: a beast that burrows from the inside out.

I scrawl a referral on clinic letterhead. When I look up, she is staring back.

I’m handing her the letter when the door swings open.

“Mum?” Says a girl.

I turn from the mirror.



All work remains copyright of the owner. No reproduction of this work is permitted without written permission from the author detailed here. If you wish to contact the author, please contact Tortive Theatre.

#FlashFiction101 is a monthly competition and free to enter. For more information on the competition please visit

55 views0 comments

Recent Posts

See All

The Fall


bottom of page