I wrote this a while back, but rewrote it from memory for my Pre-trial exams. Since the trials are coming up rather soon and I got 13/15 for the crappy-remembering-from-memory version, I plan on using it again, but closer to the original. So can anyone spare some time to give some feedback? I know it's not wise to prepare a response, but it worked last time so I'm doing it. [quote]It was Nine thirty. Nine Thirty. Nine Thirty. Half past nine. Thirty to Ten? Does time still have meaning when you repeat it so much? Does it have- "Ryan, are you listening?" The Nurse's voice deep broke through the silence; accompanied by the ticking of that damned clock. Oh.. And the wheelchair of course. "Y-y-yeh-yes muh-muh-miss," I stuttered like a skipping record. I ignored her droning and focused on the squeaky wheels as she pushed me out of my room and down the corridor. Damned wheelchair. Why did I even need it? All it did was squeak and squeak and squeak and- "Ryan! Your Meds! I asked if you've taken them this morning?" I nodded dumbly and started daydreaming. Last night it had happened again; another dream, another life. A doctor with a clipboard stepped sideways around my moving wheelchair as we rumbled down the corridor. He was bald, glasses were a little askew from a rushed morning. One hand was in his coat pocket. Just a normal guy. I needed to think of how to dispose of these damned meds before she realizes I didn't really take them. [i]"I had that dream last night, Susan," I whispered. Her eyes ran along my face as if studying a map. We lay on our sides, the covers lightly laying across our feet. Her room, as always, was a mess. She blinked, tanned eyelids quickly flicking across a bright blue ocean. Beautiful. "Ryan... You can't keep thinking about that. It's a dream." "It feels so real. I feel as if I'm actually there in that psych ward. Everyone is so real and normal, it's crazy." Except for the stuttering of course. Why did my dream self have to stutter so much? She coughed and rolled in the bed to look at the roof. Paint was peeling near the lightbulb. The mirror was still cracked from the time we tried to dance drunk. The door was bright green, freshly painted. So many details. So real. "We've been through this. Aren't you happy? Do you have to make these crazy dreams to spice up your life or something?" She shut her eyes and rubbed her face with one hand. Orange nails. "I'm forgetting things Sue. I can't remember dates or what shows I'm watching on TV. I can't keep track of time anymore. Why is this happening? How the hell am I supposed to function when I'm like this!?" I had raised my voice just a little too high and it showed on her face. Long lashes. Blue eyes. Those eyes, oh god how could somebody invent those? "Ryan I'm not talking about this anymore. This is your life. This is your wor-"[/i] Somebody tapped me on the shoulder as I was pushed into the rec room. Coloured patterns on the walls. Paintings, drawings. Puzzle pieces of a Da Vinci painting littered the floor in one corner. I had tried to help Alex finish that once; but gave up too quickly. I wasnever one to appreciate the arts. The nurse turned me to face whoever had touched my shoulder. Oh, it was Alex! "Hu-hu-hu-hello Ah-Ah-Ah-Alex!" Why could my dream self talk so fluently? Alex smiled widely and held up a pencil. 2B. Sharpened. Eraser on the end. So real. "I drew you a picture Wyan!" Sweet guy with great intentions. If only his damned pictures would shut up the clocks in this place. They just kept ticking ticking and ticking. Was the rhythm meant to calm us? Alex held a scrap of paper in the other hand. Why had he shown me the pencil? Why not the drawing? As if on cue he lifted the other hand and practically through the paper onto my lap. Oh. A clock. How convenient. "Th-Th-Thanks Ah-Ah-Ah-Ah.." I gave up trying to thank him, it wasn't worth the hassle. He would understand. Something was wrong with his clock drawing, however. "12:05" was printed in the centre. But it was only 9:30 when the nurse pushed me out of the room, wasn't it? When I looked at the clock on the wall, however, he was spot on. What was going on here? All the clocks were digital and ran off the same system. Nurse Olivia had even told me! How did I skip hours? [i]I stood in front of Susan's mirror; behind me she stayed lying in bed. My suit was crisp and ironed, but I couldn't remember having done so. Work would be starting soon and I was probably already late. Now wasn't the time to daydream of badly drawn pictures. How had I wasted so much time? What had I been doing that was so important that- "Baby, come back to bed. Screw work. Screw it for one day, tell them you're sick," Susan said from beneath the covers. It was tempting, I had to admit. Pink sheets, her choice, of course. A soft blue underlay to compliment her eyes. So soft, so real. I stepped forward and reached for the sheets but something on the floor caught my eye. White bottle, creme label. Oh. My medication. Weeks earlier I had a chest infection of some sort; it had refused to completely clear up and the meds had mysteriously disappeared. Nothing wrong in taking two now? Susan lifted the covers from off of her and looked up at me standing over the end of the bed, tablets in hand. "Oh, you found them! Better take some Ryan, you better not give me the bug." I nodded and swallowed a single tablet.[/i][/quote]