“God, not another one.”
The blue paper gown. My fingers rub and stroke along the material. It’s different from cotton or silk or felt or any of those. You can tell it’s different. It’s the little things that tell you that you’re mad. The institutional nature, for one thing. If they think you’re insane, you need to be put in something that you can’t possibly hurt yourself with. Something that can’t be made into a noose or a cutting edge or a bludgeon. It doesn’t matter that you’re not suicidal. You’re unwell, and so you must undergo the same procedures as everyone else until you can prove you’re not.
When a cow has been a good cow- obedient, gentle, good to those around it, good to the humans it knows- one day, it will go to heaven. In heaven, the fields extend forever. There are no fences, because there are no wolves beyond. In heaven, there is always milk, there is always freedom, and there is no pain.
My life shattered, just like that.
“It’s a demon. David, it’s a fucking demon.”
I threw open the door. “Alfred. We need to move.”