He was told often enough that you didn’t need to be cracked to live here but it sure did help.

Around him was one disorder after another. People crying, screaming in the night, accusing him of things he could not possibly have done and doctors who laughed at his claims he was being victimised.

Their solution to his pleas was the same day after day. A jab in the arm that sent him to sleep.

He awakened the next day, and the torment would start over.

Next to him was always the drooling girl, drugged out of her mind the drool sliding down her lip and onto the filthy night shirt she wore. No one seemed to care, she was silent, they knew she wouldn’t drown or anything and so left her to herself.

Continue reading: Thursday photo prompt – Cracked #writephoto | Morpethroad