First Person These things around my arms are so irritating! I wonder what’s behind the door. Come to think of it, what is this place? Who ate my jello? I will not tolerate this half eaten jello; I demand a clean cup of it! I attempt to sit up with frustration, and now aggravated by the bands around my arms. I hate this florescent light! It’s too bright. I can feel its wave of heat burning out my gray hair follicles. I don’t really have the energy to wiggle out of these hand restrictors but I’ll try anyway. I’m a failure. How did I even end up here? I was probably dumped in here by Aaron. I guess this is what I get for raising him when his father left us. He just can’t understand that I’m not a damn robot with six arms, and I’m not invincible. I have a set of emotions, and I age just like any other human being. I can stare at the phone all I want, for hours, but there would be no point in dialing his number if I was even capable of it. How comforting, now I have nothing but this half eaten jello and my saggy skin. Great! Just great! I refuse to die here, I will do what ever it takes, even if that means running out on the street in this piece of crap tunic. What is this world coming to, when they cant even manufacture a descent tunic, or even serve a normal cup of jello? And these damn lights are getting on my last nerve!
Third Person Her eyes darted around the room, from the florescent lights, to the arm restraints, to her half eaten jello. She began to speak out loud, accusing the facility of her jello being delivered half eaten, forgetting that she, herself had torn it to pieces and just left it there as she yelled profanities at the yellow bucket and grimy mop a few hours ago. Her fate lies in this institute, a grim place for most people. No one can tell you whether she is lucky or not for having the room to herself. The nurses did not have a choice; she was placed alone because of her constant rambling and irrational denial as most patients require a peaceful environment. The machines attached through a cord piercing her arms, flashed foreign numbers, muttering dimly in the moment of empty silence. The light slightly flickered every few minutes, reflecting an ochre grime off the waxy tiles. It was a floor that you would not dare to step on with bare feet. The light reflected against the smooth beige telephone with the number keys bulging out. She stared at the telephone and sighed in submission, with full knowledge of abandonment. She had been deserted by her only son, her flesh and blood, with out a single ounce of respect for family.