Yeah, I'm A Paranoid Schizophrenic


It was sunny today. Rare for this part of Jersey. To bad I had to spend it in the backseat of a cop car. I sighed and shifted uncomfortably against my shackled hands. I still couldn't believe I was going to a psych ward. I mean, I'm not that crazy. I've just got a bad habit of drug use.

The two cops taking me to hell were an odd couple. One was overly obese and was gouging on donuts, stopping only to mutter directions to the driver. The driver was obviously a rookie. He looked nervous and paranoid, like a bomb would go off any second. And he kept looking back at me. As if I could do anything, I thought.

The car came to a sudden stop, sending me forward into the front seat. I muttered a curse and turned towards the window. "Welcome home," I murmured sarcastically. The fat cop turned his beady eyes on me. I stared back. After a minute or he turned back around and got out of the car. Before I knew it I was shoved into dazzling sunlight and led into the building. Everything was white. White walls, white chairs, white everything. I wanted to gag.

The overly large cop dragged me to the reception's desk. A petite woman looked at us with deer-like eyes.
"Can I help you?" She asked in an nasally voice. The cop grunted and let go of me to grab some papers. He handed the papers to the receptionist who quickly scanned them over. She looked up at me. "You Gerard?" She asked. I nodded and smiled. She typed something into the computer and left to file the papers. I shifted from foot-to-foot in a bored manner. This was taking to long, I thought. When can I go?

About five minutes later the receptionist returned, but with a bundle of off-white clothes in her hand.

"Put these on," she nasally commanded.
"I would," I said. "But my hands are all tied up. Sorry." The lady motioned for the cop to un-lock me. As soon as I was free, I bolted. But, of course, as I ran for the doors "white coats" blocked my path. "Dammit," I murmured. They grabbed me under my arms and dragged me back towards the receptionist.

"Here's your clothes," she said. "Bathroom's on the right."
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