Kimber, a 17 year old girl, is being housed in a mental asylum for numerous reasons seen by doctors, however little if anything wrong with her. She has a psychotic father who is pulling all the strings.
I tried to scream but just released a muffled gasp. I crawled around looking for something… anything to help me, I hear footsteps in the distance followed by a low shattering sound. A white hot pain shot through my knee and I looked to see I broken hand mirror,part of the glass stuck in my flesh. I winced as I yanked it out. I crawled to the corner by the closet and held my new weapon behind my back. "Come out come out where ever you are Kimber…" he called "Daddy just wants to talk…. WHERE THE HELL ARE YOU?" A tall bulky figure pounced through the door and charges straight towards me. His fist squeezes around my narrow throat. "Daddy!" I chock. Without thinking I stab his arm that's pressing me against the arm. "KIMBER!"
"Kimber… Wake up Kimber" A chipper voice called bright and early. An image of an all too familiar happy nurse carrying pounds of medication swam into my mind. "You were dreaming" I tell myself weakly… he can't hurt you while you're here. I groggily lift my head from my hard pillow and opened my eyes. "Good Morning sleepyhead! You've got a bright, busy, fun-filled day! I'll leave your schedule on the nightstand for you!" with that she handed me a tiny white paper cup filled with drugs. I counted them as I always did and arranged them by color and size, my OCD gets the best of me, especially in here. 5 blues, 3 big thick navy blue pills for depression, 2 small little round light blue pills for anxiety. 1 red, for weight gain and 2 whites for a strong appetite. And finally 3 liquid gel green capsules for sleeping tonight. 11 pills, they upped my depression meds and lowered my eating ones. So I guess that considered progress…? I walked into the bathroom and noticed every feature about me. My arms have gotten bigger, my thighs bulge even though I'm wearing baggy sweatpants. Scars still cover my arms and hips and a now yellowing bruise is barely visible on my throat. My green eyes don't sparkle nearly as much, my amber hair matted and messy but my SunnySide Asylum Sweatshirt still engulfs me. I have something left of my real self that this hell hole hasn't taken from me…. It's my hell hole and my safe place. A bell rings in the distance… Breakfast time.