my best life 07.03.17.245A
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Pinning me to the floor, I tried to tell him that John was<br />
sick, but the weight of the orderly compressed <strong>my</strong> chest<br />
and it was difficult for me to catch <strong>my</strong> breathe.<br />
The room began to fade and turn dark as I felt a pain in<br />
<strong>my</strong> arm. I don’t remember anything after that.<br />
When I opened <strong>my</strong> eyes, I found <strong>my</strong>self in bed in <strong>my</strong><br />
room. I had a terrible headache, and <strong>my</strong> cheekbone was<br />
sore and slightly bruised from the commotion. I got up<br />
and slowly walked out into the hall, order had been<br />
restored. Patients again, were wandering the halls<br />
aimlessly and there was peaceful music playing on the<br />
intercom system.<br />
I walked to the dining area and the table and chairs were<br />
back in place and the TV was back on the wall. It had a<br />
massive shattering crack across the screen and there was<br />
no sound, but it still worked as a small cluster of patients<br />
were watching Judge Judy. The sun was shining through<br />
the window, it was the next morning.<br />
I then heard a voice, “Mr. Thompson…”<br />
I turned, and walking up to me was the head psychiatrist,<br />
Dr. Montgomery. He introduced himself and said,<br />
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