And we're on our own [Python]

Today was visiting day. At the peak of dawn, residents were already rustling about their quarters, squeezing into their finest clothes. Wardrobes were limited due to the controlled influx of holiday gifts from family (assuming they had one, and cared enough to actually send something) and rare opportunities to shop around the District. The rest of their casual clothes were donated. Most of what hung in Cora’s closet were sweatpants, ripped jeans, and T-shirts that swallowed her whole. She saved her one white blouse and floral skirt for visiting days, because all residents were encouraged to look nice for the visitors and promote a positive vibe on behalf of the institution.

She often forgot the bigger picture. It felt like she was dressing herself up for nobody. The familiar faces she glimpsed down the corridors were family members she recognized from weekly visits. She couldn’t assign names to faces, but she could assign faces to a particular resident. None were assigned to Cora Scarrow. Her family had abandoned her, and the last traces of her past life were not welcome. Days like this were empty for her, but she wouldn’t have it any other way. She could fill the void by watching the other residents smile and laugh, or at least acknowledge that they had family members who still gave a damn.

Filtered beams of sunlight highlighted the specks of dust hovering above her dresser. She was always persistent about requesting a nurse to clean, and they were always persistent on ignoring her. Her actions were belittled as the musings of an unstable psychiatric patient. They changed her bedsheets once a week and that was all. Clothes could be washed as often as she liked. Simplicities were their strongpoints until Cora preached about how the dust in her room tickled her nose like pollen did in the spring. The one day the doctor peered inside her nose with a light, she was deemed healthy and written off as an oversensitive liar. Today, she sniffled and tried to ignore the dust in favor of her skirt.

The institution’s undergarments were white, heavy, conservative, and the itchiest when not washed for long periods of time. She didn’t mind the design or its drawbacks; discomforts faded with time. It was the draft brushing against her legs that bothered her more. She had grown wearisome of skirts and exposed legs long ago. It felt like eyes were glued to her skin, even when she knew she was being ignored. Still, it was a weekly routine, and if they let her go outside the sun would feel warm against her skin. That would be worth the trouble.

She brushed her hair without a mirror, careful to straighten every tangle she could find. Mirrors were banned in her bedroom for good reason. Near the fountain, the nurses always advised her not to look at the water up close. She didn’t need the reminders, but appreciated the effort, although it was more for their sake than hers.

An unanticipated knock on her door made her flinch. It wasn’t yet time for her to leave. She wouldn’t have permission until thirty minutes from now. ”You have a visitor,” Leann said, propping the door open. Leann was the nurse assigned to this hallway. Her voice was like flower petals and spring water. Cora couldn’t imagine how Leann had managed to mix her room up with somebody else’s. She had been an employee for years.

”Who is it?” she asked, stricken with disbelief.

”He didn’t give his name.”

Her heart lurched. There was no breakfast to lose, but the sensation knotted in her gut nonetheless. Fear was cold, brutal, and sickening. ”Is he a peacekeeper?”

Leann shook her head, ”Just a boy.” And all at once the fear emptied itself, and she felt feather-light again.

”Okay, I’ll be there soon.”

She brushed her hair until the ends looked straight. They were also damaged, she would have to plead for a hair trim within the week. She wondered if anyone would notice. After a minute, she decided to pull it back into a ponytail, and walked out to the visitor’s area. Round tables and chairs decorated the otherwise bland white tiles, where families gathered with their respected residents to chat. Cora wasn’t sure who she was looking for until a lone table caught her eye.

”Shadow?”

Her mind blanked. She knew who he was, she could recall the memory, but she couldn’t fathom why. Why was he here?

Why was it worth coming?

It was odd.

Her very first visitor was a stranger she had encountered in the park; a simple boy whom she happened to approach because her nurse had gone missing. One question, one quest, one name, and one conversation. That was all. Months later, he was a resurfaced memory actualized into a mystery, and she could only offer him a baffled stare. “Surprise” was an understatement. She was stunned to see any familiar faces in such a bleak place. Its reputation was usually enough to keep the neurotypicals out of grey territory, where their judgmental minds didn’t belong. She could see no reason why this place, let alone herself, was worth seeking out, nor why he had done it.

But she couldn’t lie to herself or to him; she was pleased to see him, no matter how bizarre it was. ”Yeah, hi,” she murmured, waving to confirm his implication. She didn’t know whether to sit down, hug him, or shake his hand. It felt like a formal meeting, not an old acquaintance visiting on a whim. The senselessness of it made her hesitant to approach, but she shuffled to him nonetheless, offering a timid smile. After years of limited contact with outside relationships – ones she had wanted to evade at all costs – it was comforting to have created something new, even if it was by accident. Perhaps it was something she could trust, and something that would sap the bleakness out of her life. These white walls had driven her to a timeless state of loneliness years ago.

”How did you know where I lived?” She didn’t recall telling him which facility she was from, unless she had somehow forgotten. The nurses always criticized her, questioned her, remaining suspicious of every syllable she uttered until she was left distrusting herself. She was certain it was a type of brainwashing to earn everyone’s compliance, but that raised another question: was she paranoid, or were they fabricating paranoid inside of her on purpose? They wanted her to become a mental illness, to confirm their stereotypes about every patient admitted here. Yes, there was indeed an abnormality in her perception of a very specific thing, but it was narrow. With everything else she was normal, but they pinned “trauma” and “illness” against her and used them as restraints.

She was as sane as the next person, but they wouldn’t believe her, and they wouldn’t let her believe it either.

Maybe Shadow would believe it too.