Maisie awakes with the distinct sense of being in the wrong bed. As she becomes more alert, she notices other things that are wrong. The bed is in the wrong room; she is wearing the wrong pyjamas. There is a body beside her in the bed: that, too, is wrong.
Maisie slips out from under the covers, tiptoes to the door and opens it. She pads down the wrong hallway to the wrong bathroom, touching the paintings on the wall as she passes – wrong, wrong, wrong. Sitting on the wrong toilet, she ponders the wrongness that surrounds her. As she is brushing her teeth, the wrongness wells up in her throat and tries to strangle her. By the time she has finished her ablutions, Maisie knows what has happened, if not how or why. She has awoken in the wrong life. She must leave.
Maisie dresses; they are the wrong clothes, but that cannot be helped. While the wrong body in the wrong bedroom sleeps on, she moves about silently, collecting what she needs. When she is ready, she stands back and gazes about her. She glides from room to room, touching objects here and there – goodbye, goodbye, goodbye. Then, slipping her feet into the wrong shoes, she gathers her things, steps out into the street and softly closes the door behind her.
This is a bit of a cheat post – I wrote this nearly four years ago and originally posted it on a previous blog. I have lately been thinking about continuing the story though, so I thought I’d show it the light of day and see how things went.