They show us films, the women do, some of romance, some of sadness, some of happiness. None of which I understand, they confuse me. Anger me. Make the faces in the corner scream. Ignoring them is not and option. I've tried but I'd end up in the white room, nude and bare.
They shave my hair once a month, and bathe me twice a week. They lock my room at night. The empty the facilities of any water or soap. I have never understood why but they strap me down to sleep, sometimes too tight. I always remove the straps though. I can't sleep with them on, the faces get mad when I do.
"KENNY" the women scream, the name has become firmiliar, I assume that it is minr. The tag I wear reads 037. I don't understand it, the tags.
I get to wonder the halls from time to time, the strangers walk too. In lines. Organized and synchronized. Sometimes I watch the strangers cry and scream, I watch them get taken, more screams following. The women guide us to a gated yard outside, sirens ringing. I like those days, smell of smoke and loud noises, the loud noises block out the voices.
I think the voices belong to the faces in the shadows. I hate them.
Two or so times a month, ladies in skirts and pink clothes, I think they are too tight, and dance on stage for us. I always get this feeling when they dance, it's quiet aside from the piano, my face lifts and I get angry when they stop, impatient to see more. I have imagined myself in their position, it was..nice. I believe that is the word, nice, I hear it rarely but I think it is a good thing. I think so anyway.
YOU ARE READING
My Happy Place
Teen FictionKenny was sent to a mental institution in Europe at a young age, the doctors hurt them but what do they know of pain, mama and pubba paid them to take Kenny, that's real pain. Kenny is schizophrenich and doesn't understand emotions much.
