They call me Milly and they say I’ve got Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. But that’s all bull shit.

The Bogeywoman often chases me in my nightmares because I am a Genius. Then in the morning I pick up a pencil and stir-fry my Pain into Beauty. Blimin’ beautiful Art I can make. When I look back at my Drawings it freaks me out- “Did I make that?”

But when  the Bogeywoman shows up in my nightmares, I am paralysed. My flat turns messy and the cigarettes actually smoke themselves on my lips, one after the other, and I can’t find my pencil. And then when I go out, those Evil people attack me with their eyes, so I have to look for the toilet.

But there are no toilets left in London. And I get thirsty.

So I get two cans of Coke. Lovely, icy cans of Coke. I keep one of them to leave by my bedside, then shake it before I sleep it and blow it up in the middle of the night on the Bogeywoman’s face.

Look! ACharity Shop. What a nice old Violin in the window. The Coke tastes great. It’s the Real Thing.

“You’re not coming again tonight dirty Bogeywoman cos I’m gonna place pins on the bridge you always cross to come get me”. The Lady in the Charity Shop looks at me with chocolate in her eyes. She hands me the Wedding Dress I want to buy.  I show her pictures of my Art on my phone. She is shocked at the Beauty and the chocolate starts dribbling from her eyes.

“This is so good.”

So I search in all of my pockets and give her all the cigarette budget money for the week. “The chocolate was worth it”. I think to myself “Cigarettes will have to come down raining from the clouds.”

Outside the cigarette shop there’s an addict smoking, and he goes and asks me for a cigarette! Sword blades in his eyes. I pretend to answer a call. He’s gone.

The cool coffee shop is open and I manage to sneak my way inside, without buying anything, and I sit down.

I want the Pain to go on the Paper. Coffee-drinkers are curious about my drawing. It’s a woman doing her punk make-up.

Oh no. The fat Security guard.”You need to buy a coffee or get out of the shop”

“But I’m disabled”

“And I’m Stephen Hawking.”

“I’ll buy you a coffee girl!” A tattooed man steps in.

“The Bogeywoman is coming to chase me tonight. All night.”

As I drink my coffee, the pervert asks “So how many boyfriends do you have?”

Shit. I see the old Physics teacher’s eyes in his eyes, and I say ” I didn’t hack the exam answers.” The tattooed man is scared now and moves to another seat, nodding. I take the wedding dress out of the bag, because it’s so delicately soft, I can’t resist the urge. But it crosses my mind that the man will come asking for his coffee back, so I suddenly grab my stuff and leave.

I’m shaking the can of Coke on my way back and relish on the thought of blowing the Bogeywoman’s face.

Once the drawing’s finished, I post it on Instagram. The wedding dress is really tight in the chest. I need cigarettes and I’m scared of going out. The tattoo man might be there. So I recycle my dogends. The Bogeywoman hates it when I do this.

As I’m smoking in front of the mirror I accidentally kick my old, misplaced shades. Excellent! I say to myself. I’ll wear them tomorrow and nobody will look at me with Chilli in their eyes!

After searching among the mess and clutter and bad and good memories, I find a twenty quid note. Leaving the mess as it is, I go to the Newsagent to get cigarettes. But the guy just takes my Twenty and says he’s keeping it because I owe him thirty-five.

I show him my drawing and he agrees to hand me a pack of  cigarettes in exchange. I am so happy and I feel clever, sexy and talented. Cigarettes never tasted so good. Divine plant.

I fall asleep not thinking about the Bogeywoman, but luckily I had placed the Coke in the right place.

Alerts on Facebook wake me up. There’s Coke all over the bedsheets and floor: the Bogeywoman has visited again. “Milly! Somebody’s selling your drawing online for 900 Pounds! You better start watching what you do!”

I don’t care. I just want a cigarette.

The End.

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