Swing.

The first thing that caught my eye were the pills.

They lay on my bedside table, along with a half drunk glass of water which had a whitish tinge to it.

Probably drugged, I thought drowsily.

As I start to sit up, I notice other things- the vast number of people in white uniforms, the eerie silence accompanied with distant cries, the giant window near my bed.

Pulling myself up, I look out the window.

There’s a driveway- a narrow one, filled with gravel. Big black doors, and walls topped with barbed wire. A kitten, barely a couple of weeks old, mewed in the garden. The garden wasn’t bad. Well kept, with some slides and a single swing. A little girl wanders around, glancing at everything as though they were items on display.

The last thing that caught my attention- and took my breath away- was that this was not my house!

Struggling, I stand up, only to be pulled down immediately by cuffs that shackle my feet. The chains rattle loudly, causing a nurse to look up and run towards me.

As she approaches, I pull the quilt over my head. I don’t want to talk, especially now, especially to her. Out of the torn patch in my blanket, I see her coming towards me. She looks like... like a doctor. But hospitals don’t shackle people up, do they?

Looking out of the torn area, a bronze plaque catches my eye. It has some mumbo-jumbo nonsense, proclaiming this hospital as ‘one of the finest mental institutions in the state’.

The doctor in white comes and talks to me in soothing tones. I tune her out. I’m great at that. Everybody says so.

Humming softly, I look out the window again, at the little girl who bears so much resemblance to me swinging on the lone swing.

*****