a guest Jun 25th, 2019 64 Never
Not a member of Pastebin yet? Sign Up, it unlocks many cool features!
- What did I ever do to deserve this?
- This was a question I had posed to myself multiple times during these months, and yet I had no clear reply to this. My name is Victoria Garrison, I am 26 years old, and I am a patient at Her Enlightened Lady Laboratory. HELL, in short. It all started about fourteen months ago, when I was in *another* laboratory, the one where I was following a course of my Medicine Degree. It all happened suddenly: nurses came in, surrounded and gagged me, and before I could scream, before I could ask for help - but who would've helped me? - I was out.
- When I awoke, all I could see was white.
- White, as the ceiling over me, white as the scrubs of the nurses, white as the walls that surrounded me. I was strapped to a gurney, and the whole world was spinning. Some drugs were still inside of my blood, and albeit I *tried* to talk, I just couldn't. I did slur a few words, but nothing of sense came out of it. I drooled, I coughed, and had my head tilted to the side, with a firm hand imposing me that position: it was for my safety, a rather annoyed voice said, to not make me drown in saliva *yet*.
- I wasn't meant to die there, for sure. I passed out again, and finally woke up *lucid*, inside of my room. Again, white, but this time it was *padded*. I couldn't make the door out off the padding, all of it was the same except for a small white camera on a corner, pointed at me. It had such a shape, slightly convex, that it made it so that it *always* seemed pointed ***straight*** at me. For the first hours, I *asked* the camera to talk to someone. Then I *demanded*. Then I cried. I begged. I told them it wasn't me, I told them I wasn't *the one they were looking for*.
- I collapsed to an angle, in a puddle of tears and saliva that quickly got absorbed from the padded pavement.
- The next morning, the meetings began. After being fed some unrecognizable green blob (did it even have vegetables in it?) I was strapped to a wheelchair, and carried to the doctor's office. She was... *nice*. Gentle, kind, but behind that façade I could see the cold disbelief that welcomed every word I uttered. It didn't matter how much I preached for myself. All I could do was to rot in there.
- I was cut off from the outside word, sure, but after a few weeks I had finally realized what happened: there was *another* Victoria Garrison, a stupidly rich heiress that spent more money in drugs than a small african country could spend on its own whole budget. *She* had killed a bunch of people, high on drugs. She was *not* arrested and sent to mental care, right away: ***I*** was.
- After all, who's gonna listen to crazy?
RAW Paste Data