Young Writers Society

They unlock our doors and take us to the showers. We have separate shower stalls and in a way, it’s almost like college, but of course, more supervision. I get changed into new sweats, and make my way to breakfast, which is held in the same place as lunch and dinner, and cooked by the same, unloving, horrible cooks as every day. The only thing saving me from starvation is the fact most of our food comes frozen and packaged. I’d love to see Martha, with the hairy mole, try to make spaghetti from scratch. She’d kill us all. Once Greg found a small curled hair in his mac n’ cheese, and when he informed the guard; the guard pulled it out letting his fingers first dip into the cheese and pulled it out slowly. Greg got sedated again for punching him in the gut (add that to the list of things that makes Gregory upset, six: Touching his food).

I go through the line, they are serving margarine toast and bowls of slightly too lumpy oatmeal. Not too much different than what I remember from my high school lunchroom days. Some of them however never made it to high school. To listen to the welcoming party gossip all I must do is sit by the corner table, next to the guards’ table. Which is pleasant enough, it also comes with two very quiet schizos, Fionna and Lucas. They don’t talk much and are always glancing around the room as if they are being watched. If we weren’t in a ward I would’ve said they would make a good couple. We are Co-ed. Allowed to eat and spend free time with each other, since we get evaluations every so often; on top of the fact that we have guards breathing down our necks and high sedatives packed into their pockets. I think they’ve started a contest to see how many times they get to sedate Greg.

I’ve only been sedated once. It was my first day here. I had just been to court and was issued here right after; most of the paperwork was filled out by my aunt and uncle who brought me in. Plead insanity. Do as I say. You’ll get out. Funny. . .

“Is it true that sometimes you see things that are not there.” A man in a fitted suit questioned. A nod in my direction from my aunt.

“Yes.” Is all I managed to get out. Most were stunned, my family cried, and I stood there in shock, tears stinging my eyes and burning their paths down my cheeks.

It wouldn’t matter if I was innocent.

I sat down at the far table. Fionna and Lucas giving me worried looks and then they look at each other, a single tear falls down Fionna’s cheek. . .crazies. I eat and listen to the guards.

“I’m telling you someone got out.” The first guard whispered slightly too loudly. I knew it.

“We would have caught it on the cameras; it’s just not possible.” the second guard says making a pushing motion with his hand as if he can push the idea out of the other guard’s head.

“Then tell me why we found the storage doors open, and the towels are thrown around inside.” the first said taking a large bite of a ham sandwich, he had wide blue eyes that seemed to soak up the unknown.

“Don’t be ridiculous, there aren’t cameras in storage, but we didn’t see any of the doors of the inmates open on camera. It had to be maintenance. They’ll fire whoever it was though, he might as well be locked up here too. The asshole left it for us to pick up.” The female guard stopped chewing.

“He or she, you mean.” the second male guard glared at her.

“He or She, doesn’t matter the person who did it left storage open and trashed the place, Dr. Martin will figure out who it was. It’s just a matter of time.” The other guards started to look around so my eyes went back to my chunky oatmeal. So the man I saw wasn’t real, and how could he be. Although it isn’t like a crazy man would get out and not run, some of them don’t even know they are here.

“I’m fucking hopeless,” I whispered underneath my breath. Fionna jumped and I leaned back in my chair giving her more freak out room.

“Aren’t we all?” a small whisper coming from what could only be silent Lucas.

“What?”

“Aren’t we all hopeless? That’s why we are here. That’s why we haven’t left.” Lucas’ eyes drop to his shoes, his hands in his lap, a small tear escapes his eye and leads its way down his face. What a depressing prick. He almost makes me feel bad for him. If it wasn’t for the fact that I am also in this hell hole they call a ward.