There are fewer instances where a person would feel as fearful, then the one I was in right now, whether it be the quizzical nature of my being sprung from my enclosure or just the threatening demeanor of my guardian. Little to nothing changed from him either, leading my away from my chambers and down the long and winding corridors with a pace that I had never quite been able to match, stumbling over my own two feet as I tried to do so. Silence surrounded us until we found ourselves at the very end of the expansive hallway, which all this time had been housing offices on either side, each showing signs of almost evolutionary wear and tear...but I feel the establishment cared little for décor. That is, one would have assumed such from the lack of decoration on any single piece of the place, except for one.

The last door on the left was so different from each and every door before it that it almost appeared to stand before me as a testament to my own ability to distinguish differences in the landscape around me. Sure, much like the rest, there was a wood grain base, slightly faded colors and a thickness to the contraption that meant that no one could hear you scream from the outside. The doorknob was a posh, polished brass that shined from the subtle cues of the light creeping in from here or there, and to complement the set was a golden plaque halfway up the door. It read "PhD. Hugo Strange, Assistant Director" in all engraved lettering. And from the looks of it, strange was being rather faithful in his duties to his namesake, the door swinging open to a flashy and over-the-top pair of spectacles that would make Steve Urkle blush greet me.

His hair was a close match to my own, an almost jet black brown if you found the right lighting, and a slender build giving away far too easily that his head of hair was receding faster then Napoleon in a game of pinochle. To him, rifling through a stack of papers seemed to be as exciting as a pair of tickets to the world series, as he paid no mind to me as I was escorted to have a seat. In moments my musclebound chaperone was nowhere to be seen, having been silently dismissed into the nothingness that was behind me. But to be fair it was mostly my fault here, as my mind was incapable of the extra figuring at this point, and in the then and now...there was no such thing as outside my immediate surroundings. Hell, I was stretching the limits of my energy to simply be thus far, but something pressed me further onward.

"Good evening, Mr. Welman. It is...most unusual to see you up and about. It was not expected that your condition would improve, none the less a full remission. Do...do you know how long you have been gone for?" A thick accent escaped with every breathe, my best guess was Russian but im not exactly a well-versed source for language translation.

"...Gone...?" If I wasn't the one in the situation, things may have been made to seem a tad bit overdramatic in context, but yet all the same it felt just as time consuming to mutter the words.

"You do not remember...anything, do you? We have discussed this at great length, Mr. Welman. Approximately eight months ago you began to experience catatonic episodes, which you had described as out of body experiences, in your own words, you felt "gone." I have felt that we had created a fair amount of progress in our sessions, and with the recommendation of myself, and the hospital board. We have felt an interest in letting you be released."

What he hadn't known was that those periods of time had actually occurred long before then, but in the same way that a used car salesman glosses over details, it is often in ones best interest to stretch the boundaries of accuracy. When he had first encountered them, I had little choice in the matter, and I don't remember it all clearly...but what I can tell you is that things had gotten far beyond my ability to control. My loved ones had expressed interest in helping in any way that they could, and even after my being committed they sent cards and campaigned to see my in person, but in time the crowds dwindled...and I was alone once more. But it was of no concern of mine, as they had been better without my presence, and in the darkest moments I dwelled on them and where they had been in my absence. Besides, it was my idea all along to admit myself.

But to be released? The loneliness wasn't coming to rear its ugly head, and the swelling feeling from merely being around people hadn't shown itself, was I perhaps better as he said? Well, would you be healed with the lone addition of a lack of sensation? There is a massive distinction between ones pain persisting to exist, and the fact of it subsiding...the day was young. In the very least, there was something about the whole thing that didn't seem right...and his poor grooming skills and lack of fashion sense was only the start of it.

"Wha-...why would you? Why would you choose to release me now?" The words were still coming along about as slowly as I was thinking them, but nevertheless things were starting to steady in my mind.

"Well Mr. Welman, this hospital is very large...and at times we deem it necessary to release patients that we feel we have helped all that we can. There is expression, in this country, pay it forward, no? Sometimes, if we let go out those who we have already helped...perhaps they will in time assist us." He was looking straight at me...as if he had caught me stealing out of his cookie jar or something, and as much as I loved sweets I wasn't looking to be shot up the ass with heavy duty sedative

"...i'm still not following." I admitted.

"You were given a roommate, no? Let's just say that much like yourself, we can do no more for him. He has become...how do you say it...a liability. And we would like to release you...on the condition that you...release him."

When I was fifteen years old, my parents had decided to at long last silence my constant complaints over why they had never gotten a dog. Year after year, for as long as I could remember I would have slideshows and graphs, all with information accurately enough pulled from accredited sources, waiting for them when they arrived home from work. There's a certain nuance to the pleas of someone who desires something so desperately that they would alter their entire way of life just to pursue making dream into reality, for as much as they might have had legitimate reasons for why they wouldn't budge...they never once questioned my resolve in the matter. He was an older dog, about nine years old the day they brought him home, no doubt their way of giving me the training wheels equivalent of doggy healthcare but I loved it all the same. His name was Bernie, and despite the ever prevalent notion that he seemed to spend 90% of his time hating everything in existence, and the other ten was spared for showing just how much I annoyed him. But hey, its kind of that affection that only kindergarteners truly understand.

I believe he was twelve when it happened though. When things seemed to take a turn for the worse. His vision was going, and at times it seemed like he had lost all awareness of his surroundings, but no matter his pain he stood by our side. He was a creature who held in his one paw more respectfulness then most of the world I have had the pleasure of witnessing. And it didn't help all that much that I had the attention span of a moth, and to make matters worse since it was then considered "my dog" then it was solely my job to care for him. One day I took him outside so that he could do his business, and it was in the dead of winter with a snowstorm blowing violently and a thick frost hung over the air that made me vehemently envious of his fur coat. I must have been called away or caught off guard by something, and I found myself going about my day as if nothing had ever happened, that is until my parents came to my room to tell me that Bernie was nowhere to be seen and hadn't been for hours. Im a nerd with a physical ability of a spider on roller-skates, but at that instant you wouldn't believe how fast I bolted out the door, fearful of what I might find. After twenty minutes of searching and deciphering half-dollar shaped paw prints, I found him trying as hard as he could to dig himself out of an embankment.

I've never ever been one to be handed instances where I found myself in the face of death, and where I was even close to it, I fought to give that person a chance at life because it was the least that they deserved. If there was one thing I had learned, is that there is darkness, as well as light, and the difference between depression and enlightenment is just whether or not you can move fast enough to keep in its gazes. I didn't want Bernie to die in the frozen summit, and I never wanted to be the bringer of anyone's demise, whether it be my acentric roommates...or my own. But in the depths of his cornea I could see a restlessness that was calling for the orderly to return me to my room before I could really manage to give the good doctor a decent response, not that I came up with one on the walk back. Words weren't needed, the offer had been made, and now it was all on me to decide what happens now. A glint of sheen reflecting off of a six inch switchblade that now was tucked into my sleeve, much like myself at present, simply awaiting orders.