|| Serendipity || K.T Fan-fiction

||Butterfly Season||

\\ ''With a face that resembled her daughters; Timeless, ageless and full of inner strength. The beautiful women smiled with dignity. Her gaze was fulfilment, her smile a homecoming. Silently I stretch my hands out to her...'' \\

It was as if God had adjusted the colours of the world in the night, like it was as easy as twisting one of those old plastic dials on a TV set. Everything was brighter than it should be; the trees were not just green but radiant virescent hues that burned themselves in Ara's sleepy retinas. The houses were as gay as if they'd been repainted by the moonlight and now stood vibrant in the golden rays that fell unfettered through the clear sky. The road that should be grey was a sleek river of black with perfect paint lines and the street-lamps were blue. But they had never been blue, not ever. Everything was so wrong- really wrong. The front yards that had been dishevelled with the decrepitude of the late winter just yesterday were a riot of colourful blooms. Ara turned back to look at her house, the curtain twitched. Someone was in there. She hurried to the front door only to find it had been locked, she slapped the wood as hard as she could. A face appeared at the window... her face... but brighter. And, just like that on cue everything changed. 

Ara could no longer move her hands without feeling the restriction of the straps. Her head is clear, no trace of the ''Madness'' they say she has. She strains against the black polyester with every ounce of strength and still she couldn't budge. Her back starts to hurt right from the base of her spine to the tail bone. Saliva starts pooling in the back of her throat as a wave of nausea hits her. The staff of the mental ward have gone. She was alone. Heart pounding ready to explode, her eyes scan left and right in hopes of someone coming to help. No-one. 

The sound of a basic and bleak analogue clock ticks loudly as it's the only sound in the padded room and the only source to keep track of the time of day or night, she was unsure. 
As she sits, two shafts on either side of the room open swiftly ejecting large amounts of little orange and white pills; Pills she knew very well. She sits and watches one by one spill onto the padded white floor. 

Suddenly the door swings open, two large men dressed in all white storm into the padded room. Ara frightened by their intent struggles to move backwards but it was no use. Grabbing her by the arms, one holds her tight in place while the other takes a small bottle filled with pills out of his pocket. ''Please, no, please stop'' Ara sobs as a stream of hot tears roll down her cheeks, she tries to shake her head from side to side but the strong male that's holding her arms grabs her face and forces her mouth open. With one swift movement the large man in front pops off the lid and pours the small pills into her mouth, tears continue to roll down her cheeks as she chokes on the small white and orange pills being forced down her throat. After she swallows a few the large man standing behind her unties the straps and pushes her down to the ground. The heavy door slams shut and the young girl stands up, after a few seconds the medication kicks in and soon enough the room is now splattered with vibrant colours that seemed to be dripping down the walls. 

Ara's eyes widen and she slowly walks over and slides her hands across the wall, the vibrant colours transfer onto her fingers and palms and her heart begins to race. She continues to look around the room as panic and confusion starts wrapping itself around her thoughts. She could feel herself losing her mind; Shredding itself to pieces. A loud scream escapes her lips as she drops to the floor, grabbing large hands fill of pills she throws them against the wall as hard as she can. 

''No!, no!, no! ...no!!'' She repeats as she continues to throw the pills against the walls that surround her, she then stands and tries to rip the padding off the walls but it was no use. She didn't care if it took her days, she'd do anything to get out of this personal hell; she hated this feeling of entrapment, not being able to think or function on these small vials of poison.