STAND FIRM, STAY SANE

11 INCIDENT REPORT: INHERENT, INSANITY

/Delusion is a fixed false belief based on an inaccurate interpretation of an external reality despite evidence to the contrary./

The middle-aged man placed a hand on his chin, a thoughtful gleam in his eyes. "It's the midpoint. That's what I don't like about it. All I'm saying is narrative-wise it doesn't makes sense." He shook his head slowly. You know what I mean? But then again, you're welcome to disagree."

"But it's his style! He's like the modern Shyamalan," the woman steepled her fingers. She wore the same hospital gown and pants as the man in front of her but hers looked newer. Or atleast it was not as grubby as his.

"Oh, because he's lousy with his twists too?" The man seated in front of her across the table and smiled. "You're comparing him with the dude who made that one good movie with that one good twist. That's a really bad argument, miss."

"Okay, fair! But you can't deny the dialogue. Crisp, clear and concise! Like a hardboiled detective novel, but with tentacle monsters."

"His prose is okay." He started fiddling with his ears absent-mindedly, watching the others in the common room. Excluding the brawny tall guard in blue scrubs standing by the door, there were only six other people scattered all over the room doing their own business. Only the woman and him shared a table. The rest just drank their meds twenty minutes ago, they won't be sociable until mid-day.

"You don't have to blow it out of proportion," he said, starting a new drawing on his sketchbook. "You're overhyping it too much. What else is there to like about him?" He waited for a moment. "See? You know what I mean? Bujold is still the better choice when it comes to that genre. That's why you should start reading her stories. Until then, you can't convince me otherwise."

"This conversation doesn't make sense. It's neither here, nor their." The woman's ringed eyes started wandering around, watching the rest as they busied themselves doing puzzles or talking to their imaginary friends in their imaginary worlds.

"He's no Hitchcock," the man said, no longer that invested in their small talk.

"Too each, their own."

"Hm..." The man paused satisfied with his sketch. His masterpiece depicted a woman laying in a fetal position surrounded by misshapen shadow figures. Their proportions were off but the shading gave them a horrific quality. He started to draw again, giving more detail to the central figure.

The woman smiled. "Oh, shit nagigising na ba siya?" She pointed with her chin at the other patient near the windows. A girl at her twenties with a disheveled hair sat there trembling. Her arms were bruised all over and a bandage wound around her neck.

"Let her be. Just relax."

"She looks like she's ready to jump." An amused look came over her face.

"She's still medicated. And the windows here only open half-way. There's the mesh screen too. She can't even if she wanted to. She won't be the first to try though..."

"That was twice the tranquilizer dose. You sure she'll be okay?"

"Those guys know what they're doing," he said pertaining to the guards. "They're not complete idiots. Well, not all of them. She'll be docile for now on."

"Docile. Funny word. Ironic for you to say with you here and–"

"Hey, I'm not that problematic. I'm a good guy." His demeanor shifted, jaw tensed. His grip on the pencil was so tight that he had to stop drawing. "I only do it to those who deserve it."

The subtle change in his tone cued the woman to open a new topic. "So, you were asking about this book?" She raised the paperback. "Finished it in one go."