Today really is a perfect day. I am laying on my back in a grassy field staring up at the slow moving clouds. The temperature is perfect; the sun shining down and warming your skin while a cool breeze keeps you from getting too hot. The grass is the soft kind, not itchy whatsoever.
I close my eyes and take a deep breath, relishing in the sweet scent of fresh air. I listened to the trees shaking, a gentle rustle that made me relax like it was white noise.
"Dahlia, time to take your pills." I open my eyes to see a young nurse standing over me. I sigh as my perfect day gradually fades back into the familiar white washed walls of the psych ward. I stared up at her from my bed and refused to answer.
"Come on Dahlia, the pills make you better. You know this." the nurse says gently.
"And what if I don't want to get better?" I ask, "I have perfect days."
"I know, but those days aren't reality." she says calmly.
I take the prescription and a small dixie cup filled with water from her outstretched hands annoyed.
"It is a reality for me. Now tell me nurse; what reality would you rather have? Perfect days where you are free, or the bleak walls I must stare at constantly?" I ask popping the pills into my mouth and wash them down before shoving the cup back at her.
She leaves quickly, not answering the question. I close my eyes trying to find my perfect day. My escape. But the pills had begun to kick in and I stared longingly at the ceiling, wishing I could see the clouds.
Prompt: Does the perfect day really exist?
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Snapshot Stories
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