my best life 07.10.17.1204P

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