Mondays were the worst days. Every Monday, the therapist came in. Every Monday, she did the same thing. Tried to force eyecontact, stop his stimming, and make him to act like a Neurotypical (NT). It was hell. That day was different. "Dylan." Dr. Vespe said. "Look me in the eye. Stop kicking your legs. We need to talk. Ok sweetie? Its important. Do you know what important means?" she didn't wait for an answer. Dylan could talk but he'd given up trying because no one listened. Besides, everyone thought he was dumb. Of course he knew what important meant. He knew lots of things, though no one seemed to care."It means a very big deal." Dylan didn't look at her, and stared at the ground. The stupid yellow tiles. So. Ugly. "You belong to the state. Remember state? We live in New Jersey. N-ew Jer-zee. You're becoming a very big boy, and New Jersey cant take care of you forever. You're 17. Let's count to 17. 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 15 16 17. After 17, comes 18. Once you become that big, big number, we can't keep you here anymore. That means you'll have to get someplace to live. Here's a list of nursing homes that you could go to, but somehow you'd have to pay rent. Nursing homes are nice places with nice people to take care of you with yummy food and a bed and room all to your own. Rent is when you pay money to live somewhere. You don't pay rent because the big guys in charge pay for you when you're a child, but when you reach the big number 18, you have to leave and go somewhere where you pay rent. Ok, well, bye bye sweetheart!" She said cheerily. Dylan's heart was racing. He knew he couldn't stay, but he would NOT spend his life in a nursing home. The lights began to shine in his eyes, the beeps of the computers began to get increasingly annoying. The hospital smell of fear and anger clogged his nose, his itchy cheap hospital clothes stuck to him on every side. Dylan clamped his eyes shut, and put his hands over his ears. He began to scream, praying for everything to stop. He had to leave here, but he would NOT go to a nursing home. Never. He could be independent. He could. If he just had a place to stay. The nurse ran over with a sedative, and slowly he began to relax. Must. Not. Fall. Alseep. He thought, but dispite his effort, the world began to fade away. The stupid yellow tiles screamed at his eyes right before they closed.
ŞİMDİ OKUDUĞUN
Eight More Mondays
Genç KurguDylan has been trapped in the hospital his whole life. When he was born, his mother simply left him there, never wanting to see him, ever. They'd kept him safe and put him up for adoption, but no one wanted him. He was too "problematic". He has auti...
