tick. tick. tick. tick. tick.
In all honesty, listening to the clock tick helped Dan more than his daily therapy.
tick. tick. tick. tick. tick.
It allowed him to think. He had been caged in this very same hospital since he learned to talk. Spluttering out words that his parents couldn't bare to hear, resulting in him being locked up, along with the other nutcases of England. Since the age of three, Dan had been force fed pills of every colour of the rainbow, shuffled down dusty, silent and empty halls with a warden clinging onto his hand. Handed pencils, another pencil and several more along with a pale piece of paper as he is encouraged to express what he sees.
tick. tick. tick. tick. tick.
He couldn't remember what it was like. The outside world. No memories of swing sets or play parks, ice cream or chip shops, beaches or forests. All he knew was the padding lining of cells as he is moved from ward, to the next and the next. His only human interations being that of police wardens pacing the floors, nurses injecting him when he began to ramble, or therapists who only talked with the protection of a warden present. The stained, flat pavement of the enrichment area when he was allowed outside for the last half hour of the afternoon. Dull, flavourless food dished out to hundreds on a daily basis.
Tick. tick. tick. tick. tick.
How he wished to know. To know what a real girl was like, not the fake, pretend happy therapist who smiled to wide and too much. To hug someone without being dragged of by wardens he sensed violence. To experience real friendship. Real love.
The sound of a key entering his door lock awakened him from his daydreams. A warden with the nametag bearing the name "Rob" pinned to his bright blue outfit stood at the door, preparing to move Dan into the "young adult ward". Dan supposed this meant it was his 18 birthday. If only he knew what today's date was. You couldn't see it, but looped in the back of his belt was a taser in case Dan got out of hand. They really didn't learn.
"Lets go."
Dan had interacted with Rob ever since he was moved into the teenage ward at 13. That was 6 years, yet he had never was had the common curtesy of learning Dan's name. Or maybe he had, but felt too uncomfortable around him to use it. Rob placed his hand on Dan's shoulder, feeling guilty about the action but being told it was a necessity.
Dan was marched down the corridor, clutching onto his pitifully small bag containing all his treasured possessions: a single hairbrush, a soft blanket, a beaded necklance and a tatty blue teddy bear and a romance novel. His whole world easily bundled up in a tiny knapsack.
Squeaking his trianers noisilly against the rubber floor, Dan admired his surroundings. A single window after every cell, barred up to prevent inmates escaping. Peeping into the cells, Dan made out teenagers of all ages staring wistfully at glossy covered magazines, wishing to be in the world they promoted. Gazing out into the corridor, waiting to either be given enrichment or walked to therapy. Neither were particularly delightful. Unless, of course, you were lucky enough to be given tutoring. Then there were the people who disturbed Dan the most. Those mumbling under ther breath, wide eyed with terror, whispering words uneligibale to anyone's ears but their own. Tortured and tormented with the prospect yet impossibility of going home.
Acknowledging each person, Dan could note when each arrived. As broken as they all were, none of them had been here as long as he. He arrived at age three, and just turned 18. That's 15 years. And still Dan didn't believe he was nearly as insane as those he saw get dischared as they walked past his cell, cheering in delight. No, Dan was at least 75% sane. More than those people. He shouldnt be here.
Rob buzzed open the main door with the scanner he held securely around his neck. There was a metalic sound, the noise of bolts unlocking and clanking together, and the heavy, steal door unlocked with a pop. Rob pushed it open with ease. Blinding light submerged into Dan's eyes, the rich sound of bird noises echoing into his ear, the cool fresh air teasing his unnourished skin. Dan breathed in, absorbing the atmosphere before joining step with rob as he crossed the yard.
Dan was allowed outside often enough, but he craved more. To hear the sound of silence instead of the mutterings of the derranged, to feel the cold in his lungs instead of the stuffy, artificially heated rooms of the hospital. He wished to be outside. He wished to be free.