Creative Writing: A Sunday The leaving was easier than she thought. All those nights practising it in her head. Just wanted to look at the gardens, so pretty in the spring. Just wanted to see the gardens. Except in the end nobody asked. She simply put on the good blue dress, combed her hair and walked down the corridors, taking care over those polished tiles, and pushed out through the heavy double doors. Outside. Out through the garden. Trying not to run but wanting to. Outside. Out through the gates and here she is walking along the footpath looking at the daffodils. Just like anybody else. She breathes in the air. Sniffs it. Sucks it up and rolls it around in her mouth. So di