Around five, they tried to get me out of my room. Note "tried"; meaning they did not succeed. I'm not really sure why I was being so uncooperative. It probably had to do with the fact that they were trying to get me out with security guards. In black suits. And they had badges. The whole thing kind of freaked me out, as they also had tasers looped inside their belts.You would think that in a mental hospital they would try to be all gentle and everything. It is really quite the opposite. As in, threatening to taser you.
But finally they gave up, and walked away. I heard the door lock from the outside, and sat back down on my bed. I took my sketchbook out, and a pencil. It was suprising they had let me bring the pencil, as any slightly creative person could probably use it to hurt themself. I guess they hadn't known I had taken it, and as long as I kept my sketches hidden they would never know.
In the few hours it had taken to pack my few belongings, it had become obvious they were stict at the hospital. I had been given a long list of things I couldn't pack, including a note telling me all items would be searched. I had stuffed the pencil into the furthest reaches of the duffel bag, among dust bunnies, and probably some dust whales.
I began to draw, letting my hand do the thinking instead of my head. I stared at the paper, watching as a bunch of random lines slowly turned into shapes, and those shapes turned into figures. People. I knew who they were, my dream family. Maybe my biological mom, maybe my adopted mom, maybe a mix. The people I drew were never perfect, mostly blurred figures, unfinished after I gave up on them. This sketch was surprisingly good, the lines sharper than usual. The mother had long, dark hair, and a smile that shined so bright it could blind you.
The dad was taller. He was simple, and smiled more subtly, more kindly. He had just a bit of stubble on his face, and his dark eyes seemed to shimmer. He looked like a writer, serious and a little bit of a loner.
Overall, they were what I wished was my family. The people who were really in my life, not the dismal failures that were currently living with me. Or had been living with me. I sighed, remembering when I had been living in a normal home with a somewhat normal family.
Suddenly, I heard a knock at my door. I threw the pencil across the room and stuffed the sketchbook under my blankets. "Yeah?" I said, and the door opened. It was Dan. "Hi." he said, "So... Are you gonna have dinner, or just... this?" I shrugged. "They had tasers."
Dan laughed, but regained seriousness. "Yeah. But don't you want to eat actual food?" he asked. "Food is overrated," I said, slouching, "I'm perfectly fine!" Dan nodded slowly. "Well, I got this!" he threw a Target bag at me. I opened it up, and inside were a few pairs of jeans, some T-Shirts, and a bag of chips.
"Thanks!" I said, and pulled out a pair of jeans, and the chips. I ripped open the bag and began to eat. Just normal potato chips, but the last time I had eaten was that morning, and it had been from a hospital cafeteria. The chips were gone in about thirteen point nine seconds, crumbs and all. I tossed the wrapper on the floor and looked at the rest of the clothes. There were two more pairs of jeans, and a black shirt with a white cirle on the stomach.
"What's this?" I asked. "Just a shirt. I have one like it, have some extras that I sell to people. Figured that I had one in your size." I threw the shirt on over my current one. "Cool." I said. He smiled.
"Well, I should go," he said, "I don't think they want anyone in here," I nodded. "Bye." I said.
He waved, and left the room.
