I wake with a start as the nurse calls me. I awake from my dream and instantly wish I was back on the dance floor. I felt so free, sliding under the stars in his arms. Now I get off my cot and stretch away the stiffness.
I get up and try to forget where I am. I have been here for ten years and wake everyday wishing I was somewhere, anywhere, else. Rolling Acres Institute has never been and will never be, a home for me.
I was placed in Institute when I was 5, because I was showing symptoms of a mental disorder. My parents didn't want to deal with what I would do next, so they put me in this prison. I can't leave the estate, or go anywhere with out a nurse looking over my shoulder.
"Amber, are you okay?" the nurse says, in the kind, demeaning voice that everyone uses with me.
"Yes, I am fine." I reply in a tired voice, wishing I could tell the truth. If they knew I was feeling the premonitions again, they would lock me up. Again. And give me the pills. They make me see things that I know aren't true.
She nods her head and walks away. I open the drawers and grab the only clothes available besides the dressing gowns. I pull on the jeans and a generic t-shirt that had fireworks pattern on the font. I slip on some flip- flops and leave the room. The hallway is filled with people in varying degrees of control over there actions.