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White walls, white ceilings, white floors… everything as white as the

soft, pale clouds on a clear morning. That’s all that I ever saw, day in

and day out… white. Even the doctors and nurses now wore white

coats not like the ones who had spoken to me on the first day. Those

doctors had vibrant vermillion coats and had told me that this place

was for rehabilitation.

When I asked why I was here they simply said, “What’s past is

done, it’s the future that matters.” and there had been no more

questions about it. I don’t actually know why I’m here, I just can’t

seem to remember. All I know is my name, Sophie Rose Williams.

Ever since day one, I’ve felt lost and lonely. That was until I met

Connor. My very first memory of him was when everyone was out

playing in the grounds. I was scrambling up a massive oak tree with

gnarled branches that reached out like arms. As I climbed higher

and higher, the branches became thinner and weaker until one of

them snapped beneath me. I plummeted about three metres to the

ground. As I braced myself for the pain and agony that I knew

would follow, two strong arms wrapped around my back and

caught me.

After being set back on my feet, I whipped around to find out

what had broke my fall. A tall boy who was about my age with curly,

chestnut hair and deep blue eyes stood in front of me, shoulders

slumped and nervously fiddling with his hands, “You fall like a leaf

in winter, elegant and graceful” From then on we couldn’t be


Life had been simple until today. Usually we would follow a

routine, moving along to our next activity like a train of ants along

a footpath. Today, I woke up at seven o’clock, then I found Connor

and we lined up in the hall to have the same bland breakfast that we

get everyday, slopped into a our bowls. We proceeded to individual

therapy, moving down the line towards the doctor’s office as though

it was a check-out at the supermarket. By the time my tedious

session with Dr. Taylor was over, it was already lunch break. Connor

and I were climbing our oak tree when from out of the blue he said,

“I’m tired of this, I’m leaving this dreary place”

It startled me and I stared into his eyes to make sure he wasn’t

joking. “I can’t take it anymore. Are you coming with me or not?”

he looked hopeful.

“No, I have to find out why I’m here first and besides you don’t

Imprint On

Your Soul

Lily Tarry-Smith