Scattered

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The cry of traffic

The hustle of the doctors

The whine of voices

The cold, hard plastic of the chair


They whisper like I'm not here

"Omg, it's her!"

They back up, as if I'm dangerous

And I stare


They tell me in cheerful voices

"This is temporary"

"We'll fix you"

They look at me; as if I'm broken.


I'm ushered into a room

Full of flowers and puppy drawings on the walls.

I'm 16.

But treated like I'm 5.


They lead me into another room, again

Her heels clicking on the tiles

Her soft, soothing voice rattles off.

"Come on, sweetie, we'll start soon."


I'm sat on another chair

A metal one this time.

"See you soon, sweetie!"

I don't know her.


The lights flash on

I'm instructed to lay down, like a puppy following constant orders.

A man behind glass opens his mouth

And words come out.


Suddenly the lights go out

And the machine around me starts whirring.

The bed starts moving, my eyes close.

My brain stirs.


He grabs me, shoves me in his car

"Do it! Do it, you piece of shit!" he barks

Sirens are approaching, wailing

He throws me out


My heartbeat races, back in the whirring bed.

I sit up

My eyes fly open

And I scream.


A/N

If only minds were straight roads.


𝐚 𝐩𝐨𝐞𝐦 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 - 𝐛𝐨𝐝𝐲, 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐝, 𝐬𝐨𝐮𝐥Where stories live. Discover now