I come to, and I don't remember, or know where I am. It seems reflectively dull, and flat, with supremely bright lights. Where is this? Familiar, foreign? I think to myself. Suddenly, there is a massive clanging at my chamber door. “Get up for breakfast!" boomed the voice! I look down, at a twin bed, with plain fittings, almost clinical.

“You aren’t gunna be any trouble today, are ya?”

The voice seemed to be further, but maybe it’s best to respond anyways. “No, no sir!”. “Good, we don’t need another incident!” replied the, can I assume, guard, orderly? “No,” I say to myself “has to be an orderly, Jail is a lot worse!”.

“Whassat, John?” the voice grows closer, with steps growing, and keys clanking, or is it pocket change? “I’m heading down,” I, or is it John, replies “just had a hell of a dream”. “Well, Tell it to the Docs, that’s what they get paid for!” the footsteps retort, as they slowly recede on what I can most safely assume are ‘the Rounds’.

"I definitely Ain’t in Kansas no more."

---

John slides to the side of the tiny twin bed, and looks to the floor, finding some neon orange croc’s. "Heh, these must be my ‘Ruby Slippers’" I was careful to only think to myself this time. On, they find their way to John’s feet, and the feet finally found themselves at the door. To either side lays rows of rooms, all security doors, but none scream either solitary or general population. On the far left side, I see a sign, securely fastened to the wall, it listed assorted rooms, but most importantly now, the location of the dining room. Down the hall, then turn the corner, and not long to the opening.

The room was small, like a lobby, but with a couple rows of tables, with individual chairs. They were modern, with plastic and some metal alloy as the frame. Uniform, and yet, comfortable enough; Disposable, Replaceable.

In most of the chairs were the figures of war. Some are physically scarred, while others just mentally, but everyone was a little, shall we say ‘unsettled’. “Good morning, John. How did you sleep?” came a gentle voice like a soft breeze. “Well, uh, Well” Coughing and sputtering while replying, “I slept well”. The voice’s owner was a sweet looking nurse, with hazelnut brown hair, and blue eyes, standing next to a cart, full of labeled trays, presumably with breakfast. ”Here ya go, John!” Squeaked the nurse, “But first you have to take your medicine!”. Forced, I oblige, and show the fact. Taking my tray, I try to find somewhere solitary, to reflect on this new circumstance.

This is Definitely a psych ward, and I dunno if that’s a good thing…

Thanks for popping in, I hope to expand on this idea further in the future, and if you have any ideas, maybe they'll creep their way into the story somehow.

Have a good one!