Do you know tinted glasses are not so dark from the inside?

I discovered that fact on a very deadly circumstance, one I'd call a near death experience, and... Just ignore me, I'm simply over exaggerating, but the state I was, was quite morbid.

And have you noticed how fast your brain processes every information around you, especially when you're caught up in a pinch situation? It'll constantly be telling weaklings like me: "You're gonna die now, what extra stupid thing would you like to try out?". So sadistic!

Beautifully, mine went on a vacation that day, but I was still keen enough to notice the differences between the sides of the tinted window of the limo I was invited into, and damn I felt like a queen, whose chauffeur had just stopped right at her front, with the door opened for her majesty to stride through.
As golden twinkling champaign, sparkling like Tinkerbell's fairy dust greeted me first, after it came the disgusting scent of the man who offered it. The second I saw his smile, I recognized him, from his dark brown hair, gray eyes, finely shaped chin, to even the cologne he wore. I felt so nostalgic and agitated, that every part of me quaked with wrath, and all I wanted to do was to launch at him, and shred him into tiny flakes of lifeless papers, but I couldn't because what I saw, was not real. My mind was running one of its fantasies again, and I wouldn't blame the poor fella, he only goes into these sorts of states over sensitive topics.

"Naomi? Naomi!"
When she realised her shouts were futile, she came closer for a physical contact, and the taps were enough to draw me forth to the platform of reality.
"You spaced out there a little bit."
She sunk deeper into her seat, and from the way she crossed one leg over the other, I could clearly see -just above the edges of the table -her black sleek glimmering stilettos fitted from the nape of her ankle down to the tip of her toes, constantly screaming at me to acknowledge them.
"You still haven't answered my question. If before you stood your most hated enemy, and you had a cocked gun, pointed at his head as he begs for forgiveness, would you shoot him or show him mercy?"

"Those shoes are killer."
I complimented. My eyes were still on that pair, and the way it was as curvy and petite as a runway model.

"My question?"
She beckoned harder.

"I'd empty my bullets into the son of a bitch's head."
I finally gave her attention, with a smile hovering over my face.

"I see." She made a written entry into the usual place she always had, and looked back at me.
"And what are your views on sociopaths, psychopaths and those of similar category?"
She was beginning to wonder if my mind was fueled by an aggressive rage, or I was saying things just to spite her.

"Not so sure what you'd want me to say," I certainly knew what she was expecting me to say, but I wasn't ready to be an ass-kisser who'd act to please everyone. I wanted to say how I felt, not how she wanted me to feel.  "But I believe everyone is entitled to their own beliefs, and they are in their rights to act on what they believe to be the right path."

"Even if its the wrong thing to do?"

"Right and wrong is only a state of mind. We are all wrong, and we are all right, based on what perspective you choose to view it from."

"The Nine Eleven incident, Osama's bombings, and Hitler's holocaust, are you saying these were all right?"
She was trynna get to me, and I wasn't sure what she hoped to achieve by that.

"And y'all white people, taking us negro as low class citizens, is that right? Is racism right or is it wrong?"
I had her, and she knew it. Although she has never blatantly expressed her view on the subject, but she had unknowingly been giving off innuendos that pointed her discreet dislike for the deeply pigmented folks.

"I - I... I never —" Like always, a voice recorder and a note pad are what she uses for our daily sessions, but rather than snitching as usual to the paper in her hands, she froze, as she stared at it. For once I was actually grateful, grateful that she lacked any form of superhuman strength or else, the poor pen would've snapped in two from how hard she pressed against it. I could literally see the veins running over her bent knuckles, threatening to rupture if she added any more force.

"Now you're gonna have to agree with me that right and wrong is only a matter of perspective."
I didn't offer her the chance at a defense, and stole what opportunity she could've had at any form of opposition too.

"I strongly disagree that fact. Right is right,  and wrong is wrong, just like you blacks are nothing more than menaces," She bit back, fully flared in rage. "brainless savages. Your very existence spells disaster and —"

"And you're just a little bitch who's scared of a little danger,"
I appeared unphased by her words although I was deeply pricked by them. Smiling was more sore to the wound I'd inflicted, as I pursued to annoy her more. Emotions are powerful things, and hers was crucial for my plans.
"Blaming the blacks for your messes, and the shits you do behind the scenes, is fucking ridiculous. We give you the thrills of your life, you take on the damages of playing with fire, and now you blame us for getting burnt? Y'all are a race of whimps and vanilla muffins."
And I was feeding her anger in the absurd possible manner.

"Have you ever wondered why you're in a mental institution?"
I admit, her response was very much anticipated, but not her words, and they were enough to turn up my interest metre.
"Your mother. She had loads of crack and marijuana while pregnant, that's why she delivered tiny little crack heads as children."

I was furious, and excited too. Like electricity, I felt it, a calming rage surging through me, slowly engulfing me, drowning me in its ocean of fury and madness. I didn't notice when it all went blank and black. It was as though a person snapped the thread of my mind and body at once, and puppeted every part of me unidirectionally. I am still unaware how I had closed the distance between us, with her neck in my hands.

"What did you just say about my mama, bitch."
And like a clearing blur, I awoke to meet my hand tugging at her collar. She was choking, and I enjoyed making her suffer a bit. I pulled her closer to my face, and watched her struggle to scream as she gnawed and scratched on my shirt.

She tried calling for help, but the words just wouldn't come out right. I had sincere admiration that the 'H' and 'E' was quite pronounced, but the rest came out like a windy slur -there, but ineffective.
I was so flushed in anger that I hadn't notice when two men rushed at me, freed my grip, and pulled her away.

"Are you okay?"
They were more concerned for her than me, and I knew for certain that I was only a villain to them.
She didn't have the ease to respond appropriately: she wanted to, but from the way she coughed, I knew she wouldn't be able to.

"Get her away from me, she's crazy."
So unprofessional for a doctor to speak in such manner to a patient, but dear doctor Raleigh wouldn't be bound by such ethics, she was too out of sync to even think of them.
"Those pills you give her, are no longer effective. She's still a psycho."
She looked at the attendant who had safely secured my arms behind me, and through all my kicking and the head butts I gave his face, he still stood firmly behind. Men like that must be descendants of the spartan army; that civilization had their own set of crazy, and the man behind me seemed as such.
"Fluoxetin pills should get her relaxed for a few hours, with four milligram of lorazepam, intravenously administered."
She was still struggling to breathe properly, but that didn't seem to be a bother to the way she was issuing orders.
"Until she is stable, I'm cancelling a week of sessions. She won't be leaving her room unless it is absolutely necessary."
Wow, she was really making efforts to punish me, that she failed to notice the grin stretching inside of me.

Relaxed for a few hours? A concentrated dose of those knocked me out for days, and it was very timed that each second I awake, an attendant sits beside me, ready for another round.
I wasn't entirely certain, but the second the needle burrowed into my skin, I was under a wave of heaviness, it felt as though gravity was trynna make me grovel, and I was choking up. It was like eating cotton candy, and then by accident a chunk of it gets into your nose. Your fingers can't reach in deep enough to pull it out, you can't push it in either, and breathing right was a tasky exercise, but your breathing well enough to get by. That's how choked up I felt. My head too was like a Ferris wheel, only that it is the miniature version like that of a hamster, but still held the loads of a ferris, and its spinning was as fast as the hamster's. "

The crest of what I did out of my room, was visiting the bathroom and back.
These people were using my health as an excuse to drug me, and I'm certain it is illegal.

Honestly, everything was going according to my plan, as I used their carelessness to my advantage. No one had noticed that in my fit of craziness, I was sane enough to swipe the paper clip from the pad, and the cap of her ballpoint pen.
All doctor Raleigh noticed were her sheets of paper, scattered on the floor, and the only explanation was that I might have knocked them down.

Seven days was how long it would take me to execute my escape plan, and due to the constant drugging, three days had gone by swiftly, with four golden opportunities left to fully engage my plans.

If I fail, I won't be so lucky anymore, and could possibly be transferred to a facility with more rigid security, and I can't let that happen.