Molly and Sparrowhawk 1976.

Standing at the window of the lounge you watched a sparrowhawk rip a pigeon out of the sky, causing a flutter of feathers to fall, then it had gone. No one else saw, none witnessed the killing so neatly done. So sudden and so professional. You smiled and none of the nurses on the locked ward liked that smile, neither did your dead boyfriend nor his friend Jack as you plunged the hairdresser's scissors into his abdomen twice then into his neck. She urged you of course, that other you, that murderous you inside your head. Some days you see Jack wander up and down the corridor of the locked ward, his ghostly face searching for a way out, or now and then Jamie himself appears and he avoids looking at you, and his ghostly eyes are full of surprise. Blue the nurse whom you like gave you a cigarette and lit it for you and stood beside you, watching the sky begin to darken towards a winter evening and nearly teatime. You suspected the sparrowhawk ate pieces of the pigeon, tearing off pieces with its beak. The cigarette soothed you. You had a soft spot for Blue.