The Worker

March 8, 2010
By jesss BRONZE, Centralia, Washington
jesss BRONZE, Centralia, Washington
4 articles 3 photos 0 comments

She walked through the long corridor, each step sending a chill down her spine. Every scream of agony drove her to the brink of insanity. But that couldn’t happen. She couldn’t allow that to happen. She had to keep her composure. Show no emotion. Stay strong, for that was her job. No matter how frustrating it got. No matter how much she would just love to throw all the strait jackets out the window and run away as far as possible. The pain filled tears surrounded her, none of them belonging to her. The screams weren’t hers. The begging for help, for anything at all was not that of her possession either. It all belonged to someone else. Well actually more than someone. To be exact, 150 people. If you can call them that. Patients is their proper name, according to everyone who encounters them. They lost their label as people a long time ago. Their new label is a patient, a criminal, a loon, a nut head, the criminally insane.

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