When I look at the industrial-grade tiling and the plastic wrap-a-round baseboards that have neither aesthetic nor function, I wonder if the fall was the easiest or the hardest thing to do.

The inch-thick high-gloss acrylic paint fills me with nauseated hopelessness. The astringent smells give me the feeling that I'm trapped in a plastic bottle. I'm pretty sure you can't put vertical blinds in a bottle. But then again, what the hell do I know? Light bleeds though the opaque textured glass. They could be trying to trick me. It could be night and the light is coming from a sulfur lamp. Whether it's day or night, I don't really care.

I don't know why there's a door, people are always coming in, helping themselves to my company. It could be fair to say that they don't know that I keep my own company. Fair, that's funny, nothing is Fair.

Tiny paper cups filled of nothing like a promise. Tiny paper cups filled of a promise of nothing.

It's a mixed crowd in self-medicating OT. There's silent kid is on the other side. I heard about her. They need to leave her alone. Don't they know she doesn't want to talk? I lick the end of the tissue paper and twist it into a point. The slightly salty taste of the ink saturated tissue paper is like life, kind of unpleasant and leaves you stained. Curling the ends around a dowel. A dab of glue here and a dab there and I attach it to a pipe cleaner. Carefully using the saf-t-scissors, I cut pieces to variegate my leaves.

She's got a chipped tooth, they must be giving her rides on the shock-treatment table. I can still feel the muscle aches from where they restrained me during my latest round. I rub my biceps instinctively.

My alien lily is complete. I stand and reach across the wide white table, preemptively flipping the OT on duty 'the bird,' while handing the flower to the kid. She sticks her little nose into the trumpet bloom inhaling deeply. I could almost smile. I could almost smile if my medical miracle allowed me to have feelings.

Where did the girl go? Looking up and down the table, I can't find her. The Freako, wacko, sicko next to me tries to pull me back into my seat. I'm not left-handed, but my left works just as good if someone needs to be punched in the face.

They long ago labeled me randomly violent, I don't mind. It gets me a nice quiet rest. It's warmer than usual. My left cheek is wet, I should close my mouth but I might drown from all the saliva. White washes me out, but the white is all over, it wraps its arms around me. Maybe I'll wash out. It'll come out in the wash.

A soft thumping echoes in my head, orthopedic shoes on industrial-grade tile. The poultry fencing is held captive inside the saf-t-glass. They must be afraid the poultry fencing might hurt itself. The coast is clear, “hey, you. It won't do you any good to hurt yourself, they'll just give you more meds. I can't help you little poultry fence." Checking to see that the coast was still clear. "Okay, just this once.” The hardest part of the skull is just below the hairline. It's hard enough that the skull can be used as a weapon, but I wasn't using my skull as a weapon, I promise. The little defenseless chicken wire was trapped. I think I'll sleep now. (FIN)