With her father on a fast track to political stardom, Anna's quirks and "out there" personality have always been looked down upon. After years of struggling with her stifled emotions, she ends up institutionalized, surrounded by strangers and lost i...
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Harry paces back and forth down the hallway outside her room. There was something about their interaction by the phone. Something about her self-assurance. Her fearlessness. Characteristics that no one has ever described her as before. He was the first to see it.
He pounds his fist against the wall, frustrated. What is it about her? About her demeanour? Her soul?
"Hey, you! Lights out. Get back to your quarters, Harry. What are you doing?" A worker in the institution warns.
"Y'know. I'm just a crazy buffoon. Don't mind me." He gives a sarcastic salute and stalks back to his room. "See you soon, darling," he mumbles in the direction of her closed door.
"Used to be one of the wretched ones and I liked you for that. Used to be one of the wretched ones and I liked you for that. Used to be one of the wretched ones and I liked you for that." The maddening lyrics of Broken Social Scene loop in her head. Footsteps ring back and forth outside her door but she pays them no mind. She's just buying time. Waiting. Faking it until she makes it. Living for nothing but escape. The lyrics continue— "Park that car, drop that phone, sleep on the floor, dream about me..."
"FUCK!" She pushes the wool blanket off of her unshaven legs. Quiet rings outside her bedroom, save the steps of an unknown stranger down the cold corridor. This is her time to leave it all behind. Her opening to find admittance to a better world.
Gossiping orderlies stand oblivious at their stations, unaware of their escaping patient. The worker from earlier that interrupted Anna's game of chess is busy wooing a female employee. "I just really want to take you out. C'mon, Ashleigh. You know I'll treat you right." The Ashleigh he's speaking to rolls her eyes and continues doing whatever data entry her suitor interrupted in the first place. Anna takes this as her opportunity to scurry down the hallway as quickly as possible.
Lights are dim. Patients are tucked away in their respective rooms, tossing and turning from the exasperating white noise of ceiling fans and ticking light bulbs. She finds her way to the rooftop access door at the end of the dark hallway. How foolish it is to have a mental institution placed at the top of a building with easy access to a solution.
Crisp cold wind hits her chapped skin. Maybe she should have used the face mask her mom gave to her. Having only been in the institution for a week, she hasn't earned her outdoor privileges yet. This was the first time in what feels like years that fresh air has caressed her sunken-in cheekbones. The scent of Pine Sol is replaced by fresh rain on London pavement. What she would give to bottle this smell and relive it for eternity.
Specks of headlights litter the streets below. She leans over to observe the scenery, taking in a deep breath. This spot is high enough. It would happen on impact. Would she want to be facing up? Enjoy the ride, unaware of the hit? Or face down? Ready to face it.
