I.

He knew.

A security guard politely escorted him to his room: all white, completely padded. He went without a fight. His bright blue eyes darted around his surroundings, taking note of everything and everyone that had passed by him.

By nighttime, he lay awake on the simple white cot that was pushed into the corner of his room. There was no window. There was not a single flicker of light.

“This is for your own good, Brian.” His mother had insisted, wrapping her signature floral scarf around her neck as they prepared to leave. “This place will be able to help you with your…condition.”

Brian stared hard at the ceiling.

He knew he was not insane.

He closed his eyes and slept soundly that night.

II.

“My name is Kelsey.” A girl stood up, looking thoroughly bored. Her flaming red hair stood out sharply against the sickly pale color of her skin. “And I’m a schizophrenic.”

The therapist smiled, making a note on her clipboard. Together, they all chorused piteously. “Hello Kelsey. You’ll get better.”

It was a monotonous routine. When it was his turn, the therapist nodded at him encouragingly.

“My name is Brian.” He said slowly, standing up from the uncomfortable plastic chair. “And I’m…” He trailed off, looking at their expectant gazes. He saw the thinly veiled pity. He cleared his throat. “And I’m perfectly fine.” 

The therapist’s eyes snapped up in shock. Brian barely concealed a smile.

He knew he was not insane.

III.

They watched his every move.

He would stretch his arms above his head, and a doctor donning a pristine white lab coat would record it in a file.
He would yawn, and a nurse would keep her eyes on him for an entire hour.

They were waiting. Waiting for him to react, to escape, to do anything other than simply color the sheet of paper in front of him. They wanted a reason to lock him inside his room once more.

The green colored crayon in his hands snapped.

And when the security guard once again led him into the padded room, Brian decided that it was alright that they were watching him twenty-four seven. Because he knew.

He knew he was not insane.

IV.

The pill sat in front of him on a clear dish. Right beside it was a disposable plastic cup filled halfway with what he assumed was water.

“Please take the pill, Brian. You don’t have to fight about this everyday.” Nurse Roxanne crossed her arms and stared at him from across the table. “This is for your own good, Brian.”

Brian? Who was that?

Her words seemed familiar, like a distant memory. Had he heard them before?

He swallowed the pill without another word. It did not go down smoothly, feeling like he was pushing down a lump in his throat.

He took a sip of water, blinking back tears.

He knew he was not insane.

V.

“Do you get any hallucinations? Any reoccurring dreams?” The doctor asked, leaning leisurely against the metal chair. She tapped her blue pen against the table.

Tap.

Tap.

Tap– He flinched. He stared at a spot behind her shoulder and began to speak reluctantly. “One. There’s a woman. She’s crying–no–screaming. Her skin is very pale. She stops screaming eventually.”
“Do you know why she stops screaming?” The doctor pressed further, surprised at his sudden progress and willingness to speak.

He merely shrugs. “I remove the floral scarf I was tying around her neck.”

The doctor frowns, puzzled only for a second. Then she blinks, slowly, methodically. A sick look appears on her face and she reaches a shaky hand towards the red button that is near her on the wall.

He barely notices, too absorbed with studying the person in the glass behind her. It’s a boy with blue eyes, but they are empty and lifeless. They are quite unlike his own shining blues.

The thought comforts him when he looks away from the mirror to see the security guard hurrying into the room.

He knew he was not insane.

VI.

He is crouched in a small ball in the middle of his room. His hands pull at his hair, scratch at his skin, and they tear at his flimsy blue gown.

He is no longer human. He is but a simple condition, a disease that needs to be treated, needs to be fixed.

He doesn’t know how long it has been. He doesn’t know much of anything. Not his name, not his age; He does not know who he is. He’s broken.

He only remembers one thing.  Something he repeated to himself endlessly for days on end. 

He knew he was not….

What was it again?

He knew he–

He knew–

A small smile curled at his lips when he figured it out.

He knew he was…

He knew he was…Insane.