sit waiting. I pride myself like a soldier in my ability to wait them out. They think that they know me, that they can read my mind. But my shield is up. It holds me in place and steadies my breathing until I feel like my body might be dead and I feel the slip. I slip right out of my mind… and slide, and then I can see them all… they don’t know I’m looking… but I can tell that some of them suspect. They look around. And I can tell they’re wondering who’s watching them. None of them know the truth like I do though. And so I’m safe… they can’t hurt me.
Since that day I’ve seen the images, and every time they come I’ve learned how to escape them. The images are intelligent; you would never imagine a memory being intelligent. I might be crazy. I’m not insane however, and these quacks in the white coats don’t seem to know the difference. They’ve watched me grow up within these walls and they wonder why I want out. They wonder how I know they’re coming or how I know what they do when they’re beyond these walls. But what my memories bring me is a blade that points both ways. I only wait for my opportunity. They can’t help me here… so I must help myself…
I slip back within my mind and pull the sheets back over my head, pretending to be asleep. A doctor walks into the room and I can hear him breathing along with the liquid squelch of a syringe being filled. I feel the sharp pinch and chemical burn as things become warm and my thoughts fade.
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