Total pages in book: 64
Estimated words: 59448 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 297(@200wpm)___ 238(@250wpm)___ 198(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 59448 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 297(@200wpm)___ 238(@250wpm)___ 198(@300wpm)
Thud
Thud
Thud
Has me stopping and looking.
There’s a girl with ratty blonde hair knocking her head into the wall. All I see is her back as she continues to hurl herself at a padded wall. My brows furrow with unease, and I keep walking. The TV is playing Casper the Friendly Ghost, it’s at the part where Casper has to feed all his brothers and the food is falling right through him. Several people sit on the couches and floor, watching as if they’re in a trance. There’re windows lining the opposite wall, blinds pulled all the way up to let the gray clouds dull the room.
Grinding my teeth, I go to the office. It has three windows that look to be made of plexiglass, and cabinets inside, a desk and what I assume is the nurse.
I lift my hand to knock and remember I’m in the jacket. Moving my head side to side, I crack my neck and remind myself to breathe and stare at her hoping she will feel me looking at her. Find someone to get this damn straitjacket off me.
She has dirty-blonde hair, a skinny face with high cheekbones. She rocks her head back and forth like she’s humming a tune as she types away at a computer. She’s not noticing me. She’s probably used to having weird people just stare at her.
I step closer to the window and nudge the glass with my elbow. Her eyes sweep across the desk to me and surprise takes over her face. She stands, opens the door, and turns toward me.
“Oh sweetie, you shouldn’t be up,” she says softly. Her pink scrubs bringing a little light to this dreadful place.
“Where are my parents?” I ask, and her smile thins.
“You are at White Wing Psychiatric Center. We’re here to help you get better, and your parents are just fine,” she states. Walking behind me, she unzips the back of the jacket and begins to unclip and loosen it.
“How are you feeling? Do you feel sick to your stomach?” she continues to evaluate me.
“No,” I lie, I feel like I drank too much water too fast and I need to puke. I’m not sure if it’s from waking up here or the shot they gave me.
“Okay, well, that’s good. The doctor will probably see you tomorrow, and we’ll know about your limitations and privileges. So until then, you can join the others in the common room, or return to your room, okay?” She pulls the heavy white coat off of me and looks down at me with an annoying big grin. Her red lipstick smudged on her bottom teeth.
“Oh!” She raises a finger, her lips puckering into an O-shape, and darts into the office, grabs something off her desk and comes back to hand it to me.
I take it, it’s pamphlets about the place, their mission to help us get better with smiling kids on the front. Glancing around the place, I don’t see a cheerful child in sight.
Sighing, I turn around completely, not sure where to go or what to do. I’m tired, really tired. The episode I had this morning at school really took it out of me, and I feel as if I could sleep for days.
My eyes land on a semi-pretty girl at a table in the middle of the room. She’s doing a puzzle by herself. She’s in clothes similar to mine. Scrubs, like we’re in a hospital, her hair comes down the left side of her shoulder in a tight braid, and she has big round eyes. She suspiciously looks around the room and quickly gobbles up a puzzle piece. My eyes widen. She just ate that!
Scratch sitting next to the girl who eats things. Crossing my arms, I look at the kids watching the movie, they all look very different. One bald with stitches in his head, a girl with green hair, and I can’t stop looking at the girl with cuts all over her face and neck. Did she do that?
I don’t think I want to sit there either. I don’t belong here. Where is my dad? He knows people to get me out of here. Just before I turn to head back to my room, I see someone sitting at a round table at the back of the room by two windows. She has crazy blonde hair down her back, and she’s hunched over as if she’s working on something.
Curiosity getting the best of me, I slowly tread that way and glance over her shoulder a good distance away.
She has a three-inch pencil with a dull head and is drawing on a sketch pad. I can’t really see her face, but she has pink cheeks and freckles.
“You can sit, you know,” she says, and I stiffen. She glances over her shoulder and big eyes with a color I can’t determine look at me. Her nose is too small for her face, and her bottom lip sticks out farther than her top.