With the straight jacket firmly buckled at my back with my arms crossed, I sat in the corner of the padded room with my legs sprawled in front of me. My mind was dulled by the drugs they had forced into my body.
I knew there were no windows in this gray hell hole. But as I looked up to the ceiling I could see a woman dressed in Greek robes, a picture I may have seen as a young student, standing on a ray of light, gliding down to stand level with me.
She lifted up my head and looked deep in my eyes. Her black-brown eyes smiled at me as she whispered that someday I would remember this day and that someday I would write about the tortures of the mentally ill. I listened hard as she told me of my future.
The beat of my heart calmed as gazed at her. In the back of my mind I could hear my therapist say that she was just an hallucination. This woman was just a dream of my fallen mind. I would keep her secret until the day I would bring her into the world – because that was her third requirement.
Soon her representative under the guise of a psychiatrist would heal me in front of my therapist. She would bring a lawyer and prove that I had been put in this mental institute so that my cousin could gain my fortune. Then I would be free to follow this dream.
I watched her leave on a beam of light. She turned back and threw me a kiss. I smiled and waited.
* * *
“What is he smiling about?” said the attendant who was watching their most violent mental patient.
“He must have had that dream again,” said his therapist.
The attendant didn’t ask which dream. They all knew the dream. As long as they were alive, it wouldn’t happen.
“Time to move him again,” asked the attendant. The therapist was silent in his agreement.