Today, Janice was released from the beige. The Cognisceitti Mental Facility looked like nothing quite so much as the computers of her youth: a monotone, conformist box. A book of poetry had landed her here a decade ago and, when the first therapies hadn’t taken, more radical treatments had begun.
“At least the death penalty isn’t an option,” her lawyer had said. It was cold comfort.
For years she’d endured their drugs, but none of them could quench the surreal, dynamic vistas constantly delighting the contours of her mind. She had her uniqueness
her pride to fall back upon. And when they appeared to give up, she resigned herself to being incarcerated forever.
But she’d underestimated the rest of the world.
Her eyes widened as she walked out the doors into a land of melting skies and genetically-altered plants that outshone even her most fantastic dreams. The cutting edge treatments, it seemed, they’d saved for themselves.
It left her feeling … ordinary.
“If you can’t beat ’em, join ’em,” she sighed.