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| Artwork by dream.ai |
I am not mad! I am not mad! Like the thudding of panicked heart it repeats, an awareness lifted from the refuge of unconsciousness to discover a reality that is terrifyingly familiar. It is always, endlessly, the same.
The door opens, screeching on unoiled hinges. The orderly steps inside; non-descript, a large mass of impatient brawn. The syringe is already loaded in his fat fingers, ready to inflict chemical insensibility. But suddenly... this time something different happens: the orderly quickly drops out of sight... what?
It takes several minutes for you to regain your sense of self. The voice repeating the mantra that you are not mad is your own. You vaguely remember being dragged to this place with false accusations of insanity. You had a life that was stolen from you, and now it calls out to you again from beyond the fog in your mind, begging you to return.
Sitting up makes your head spin for a few moments. When things settle, you turn your attention to the floor beside the narrow bed. The orderly is lying on the floor with a large dark bump on his head. The soiled legs of his white pants draw your attention to a puddle of some liquid. Slowly it becomes clear what happened: the orderly slipped and smashed his fat head on the bed frame. Interrupted in his task, the door to your cell is still standing open. Freedom!
Pulling the tubes out of your arm, you climb off the bed and carefully settle yourself onto the floor, the worn floorboards cool against your bare feet. You nearly fall over just trying to bear your own weight, but after many tries you are able to take a step away from the bed.
Growing stronger by the second, you spy the full syringe and gently lower yourself to pick it up. You grope at the orderly's fat neck until you feel a throbbing artery and plunge the needle into it, expelling the drug into his system. Now he will be out for... well, you don't know. For long enough to escape... you hope!