Snippet #1197173

Shelby grumbled to herself as she entered into the world of this 'Hospice' place. Pulling down her long sleeves so that her cuts wouldn't show, she let herself be pulled into the doors of this hell of a mental hospital. She'd heard about these places; usually in horror movies where the patient gets maimed and killed by some psycho doctor. Her parents dropped her off at the doors, refusing to even come in with her. She knew they were ashamed, but she couldn't help feeling angry. All the people here were in the same boat - they'd all lost it at some point.

She couldn't help but feel awkward as the person at the front desk greeted her cheerfully. "Oh, Miss.. Shelby? Shelby Brightson? You're quite late, aren't you?" The lady was smiling mechanically. Shelby nodded, knowing very well she was late.

"Yeah. My parents had... business. The space still open?"
"But of course."
"Sucks for me..." Shelby grumbled.
"What was that?"
"Nothing." Shelby smiled a mechanical smile right back.

Damn fake people.

Shelby let herself be led to her new room. She thanked the doctor who'd led her there - a tall, slim man in his early 30's, probably - and unpacked her small backpack into her new "home." She thought she was handling this maturely, but she couldn't help but feel contempt, wondering what would happen if she just played the 'insane' card all together; being difficult and loud and all together a horrible patient. She smiled at the thought. As she was thinking, she realized she'd stopped unpacking and got to it.

She sighed, thinking back a little bit. They'd confiscated her razor she'd packed. She should've seen that one coming. It was her best razor, too. And she highly doubted she was getting it back, even when she got out of this hellhole. They probably had some dumb policy saying that anything that could harm you could no longer be in your possession for the rest of your life.

No more school projects that involve scissors.

Shelby laughed at this thought, and then collapsed onto her bed, trying to sleep.