Incoherent

0.27 - Leaving

Today was the mark of me being here for three weeks, and I was dying to just have a damn good slice of pizza.

The more we drove, the less and less I recognized. "Where the hell are you taking me?" I asked and frowned, looking all over. There were nice polished trees, the ones that were trimmed to all look the same. The grass was a remarkable shade of green, so perfect it almost looked fake.

I feel like she was taking me to one of those fake but not fake buildings, that looked like they came straight out of a magazine. Ya know, the ones where if you sneezed you'd ruin the whole rhythm and flow of things.

And then I saw it.

As we approached the stark white building, a noticed a big sign with words in such a bold and fancy script.

Francis' Home for the Mentally Unstable and Unbalanced
An Asylum for those in Need

"You're taking me to an Asylum?!" I scream, giving her the evilest look I can muster up

"Lilly its for your own-"

"Don't start by telling me it's for my own good. You've known me only for a few weeks- not my entire life. How could you ever possibly know what was for my own good?" I growl at her. I hastily try to unlock and open the door, but it wouldn't budge no matter how hard I tried.

She sat there quietly and watched me. I couldn't help but feel my sudden out burst just proved her point that I needed to be here.

Stay calm Lilly, stay calm.

I sighed and closed my eyes, laying my head back.

"Don't with your tan turn yet, Lilly?" She mused with a small smile.

I glared at her and flicked her off. "Go to hell." I muttered.

-

asylum | e' sīlem |
noun
1 ( also political asylum ) the protection granted by the nation to someone who has left their native country as a political refugee: she applied for the asylum and was granted political refugee status.
      • shelter or protection for danger: we provide asylum for those too ill to care for themselves.
2 ( dated ) an institution offering shelter and support to people who are mentally ill: he'd been committed to an asylum.

-

Walking inside, I was surprised to see people dressed in similar attire as me. The same light grey jeans and a colorful, flowing top. I wondered if that's all they gave us. Surely they had other items like shorts and skirts? The occasional dress?

People looked normal, happy. No one was rocking in a corner and there weren't any dark and secluded areas or cob webs growing on the ceiling. The walls were stark white with paintings and mirrors up, and there were various house plants scattered around in a nice and sophisticated manor. There were board games set out and a tv on a table as well. The couches and chairs were white and modern, but the little plastic modern ones sometimes were colorful.

"This doesn't look like your stereotypical crazy person asylum. Are you are we're in the right place?" I asked and rolled my eyes.

"Of course I am. My great grandmother founded this place and now I'm the head runner and head Therapist." She said rather proudly. I scoffed and rolled my eyes.