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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"Green streaks of joy and appreciation shoot up at her face in the form of his infinite irises. She thinks of moss across a giant fallen oak tree. Sad but still beautiful."
Anna connects to the words of her new favorite book "Mosaic" she has open in front of her. Silent Hour was always the perfect time for her to dedicate attention to her reading and escaping. This time in the institution is much like study hall in high school. The room should have been designed to make the tenants comfortable but instead they place everyone in hard desks, in rigid rows. A vice principal-like orderly, nearly half asleep, sits at the front of the space, a chalkboard behind him which is never used, save the words "SILENT TIME" written in bolded white font.
"As a super, it's his job to fix what is broken. And in the hidden ecosystem of The Mare's Nest, nothing would make him happier than to connect the cracks in Mara's broken, gorgeous soul."
She folds the corner of the page down, the last line bringing closure to her reading, and closes the book.
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She brings out her notepad to doodle some of her thoughts. While in Silent Hour, the patients have an assignment to do a "reflective" journal entry. With fifteen minutes left, she knows now is due time to get the dreaded assignment over with. As soon as she touches her ancient mechanical pencil to the paper, she feels something hit the back of her neck. The old walls of the establishment are known for housing neurotic critters like moths, bats and damaged humans. She writes it off, until she feels it again.
Frantically brushing her neck, she turns to find two wadded up pieces of paper next to the tarnished metal of the bottom half of her desk. She looks around, a highly suspicious Harry sitting at the back trying his hardest to look inconspicuous.
Grabbing the papers, she places them at the corner of her desk and continues to frantically write her mandatory entry. Her handwriting is messy and aggressive with upset over the practices of the institution, using words like "asylum" and "farm." The patients are cattle. All treated the same when every brain is drastically different. She's never felt more vindicated, finally letting her thoughts out like a hole in a dam, slowly turning turning to a crack and then a crumbling wall. Maybe it was her meeting with Harry or maybe it was the program starting to work. Whatever the reason, the cathartic feeling of knowing these words would be read by those in charge here makes her feel in charge of her own body and thoughts.
