Outside the state hospital, the dead gathered. They peered up at my caged window even when I chose not to look out.
“Tomlinson, Francis?”
I nodded and continued lacing my boots.
“Here are the medications the doctor ordered. Now please remember to take them everyday so we don’t have another episode. Ok?”
“Yes, I will.” No, I won’t.
She ran a scanner over my wrist. It beeped, confirming I was one of the watched. Not everyone had chips in them, just a lucky few.
“This is your sixth time here, young lady. How about we try not to make it a seventh? You’re running out of chances to obey the directive. Surgery is next.”
“But I like it here.”
The lanky woman handed me a paper bag of the possessions I’d had three days ago when the police dropped me off. The carton of orange juice was ruined and all the items in my wallet had been removed and carefully put back.
“I’m sure you don’t. The hallucinations should all be gone. If you continue to take your medications you won’t be bothered by them again and neither will anyone else. Do you understand?”
I did, but it changed nothing.
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