I come to, and I don't remember, or know where I am. It seems reflectively dull, and flat, with supremely bright lights. Where is this? Familiar, foreign? I think to myself. Suddenly, there is a massive clanging at my chamber door. “Get up for breakfast!" boomed the voice! I look down, at a twin bed, with plain fittings, almost clinical.
“You aren’t gunna be any trouble today, are ya?”
The voice seemed to be further, but maybe it’s best to respond anyways. “No, no sir!”. “Good, we don’t need another incident!” replied the, can I assume, guard, orderly? “No,” I say to myself “has to be an orderly, Jail is a lot worse!”.
“Whassat, John?” the voice grows closer, with steps growing, and keys clanking, or is it pocket change? “I’m heading down,” I, or is it John, replies “just had a hell of a dream”. “Well, Tell it to the Docs, that’s what they get paid for!” the footsteps retort, as they slowly recede on what I can most safely assume are ‘the Rounds’.
"I definitely Ain’t in Kansas no more."
John slides to the side of the tiny twin bed, and looks to the floor, finding some neon orange croc’s. "Heh, these must be my ‘Ruby Slippers’" I was careful to only think to myself this time. On, they find their way to John’s feet, and the feet finally found themselves at the door. To either side lays rows of rooms, all security doors, but none scream either solitary or general population. On the far left side, I see a sign, securely fastened to the wall, it listed assorted rooms, but most importantly now, the location of the dining room. Down the hall, then turn the corner, and not long to the opening.
The room was small, like a lobby, but with a couple rows of tables, with individual chairs. They were modern, with plastic and some metal alloy as the frame. Uniform, and yet, comfortable enough; Disposable, Replaceable.
In most of the chairs were the figures of war. Some are physically scarred, while others just mentally, but everyone was a little, shall we say ‘unsettled’. “Good morning, John. How did you sleep?” came a gentle voice like a soft breeze. “Well, uh, Well” Coughing and sputtering while replying, “I slept well”. The voice’s owner was a sweet looking nurse, with hazelnut brown hair, and blue eyes, standing next to a cart, full of labeled trays, presumably with breakfast. ”Here ya go, John!” Squeaked the nurse, “But first you have to take your medicine!”. Forced, I oblige, and show the fact. Taking my tray, I try to find somewhere solitary, to reflect on this new circumstance.
This is Definitely a psych ward, and I dunno if that’s a good thing…
Loving the ambiguity of the environment up until the very end. You did a really good job of keeping me guessing. I could also envision the structure of the room from your descriptions.
It takes on a very hopeless feel and I would love to see the main character battle with an intrapersonal battle against his feelings of entrapment and loss of life. I know in psych wards, oftentimes patients may be treated less than human. Play with that sense of desperation and see where that takes you if you want.
Please continue this series - very good appeal!
Thanks for the thoughts! Ambiguity is certainly a thing I was toying with in this one, to the point where it may well be considered an underlying theme.
Full Disclosure, I haven't really ever written anything, but I've always liked conveying stories, through acting, or song. I figured I'd try to flex some new muscles, so to speak, since I have no stage or strings at the moment.
thanks for this post, good post
i follow you and appreciate if you follow me
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