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Note: Italics are one person’s perspective, normal is another.

It was perfect. All I had to do was run off the bus and make a break for it. Then find somebody stupid enough to help me get out of my handcuffs…and run away, find a new home, live under a new name, create a new life, and somehow still get medication to manage my multiple personalities.

Maybe not so simple.

Sure, I may be a little bit cookoo, and maybe one…or two…of my personalities are suicidal and homicidal. But I don’t deserve to be locked up in an insane asylum. All I had to do was make a break for it.

Except when I did, so did everyone else.

Surely, the bus driver must have shit himself when he came back and found out all of us missing. All I was concerned about was getting into the woods and running as fast as I could to freedom.

I tapped my foot impatiently and checked my watch. This bus should have been here 15 minutes ago. If it didn’t show up soon, I was going to be late for work. I was already late once because of thing. God forbid it happen again.

Shortly after, a bus pulled up. Not the normal bus though. It was black and grey, kind of resembling a school bus. I figured maybe something happened to the regular ride, so I boarded along with the rest of the people waiting without a second thought.

I ducked around some trees and tucked and rolled to catch myself after I tripped. After a minute, I came through to where the woods meet the city. I ran along the border, far enough in so that no one could see me, but I could see where I was.

I ran next to a bus stop. Hmm, I thought to myself, this is where my brother always gets on. I haven’t talked to him in a while. I hope he’s doing okay.

The bus driver talked on the phone to someone most of the time. He was really quiet, so I unfortunately couldn’t tell what he was saying.

The bus didn’t go to the normal stop. It went down a different road in the complete opposite direction. Several of the others on the bus were on their phones, but those who weren’t, including me, began looking around at each other, wondering what choices we had. After another few minutes, it pulled up in front of Walnut Valley Psychiatric Asylum.

My sister was supposed to be taken here today, I reminded myself, a somber look glazing my face.

There were men outside in white uniforms, probably 25 of them. There were also a few cops, some armed with heavy artillery.

“Excuse me sir,” I questioned, the first one to make a sound, “I think we got on the wrong bus.” At first, he didn’t say anything. Then, without turning around, he said three chilling words.

“No you didn’t.”

I ran farther and farther into the woods faster than I’d ever run in my entire life. At one point, I ran into an all too familiar part—the woods by the asylum.

There were sirens and many people outside. Some were police, and some were men restraining people who were trying to fight back. They were kicking and screaming, claiming that they boarded the wrong bus. Others were asking why they were being called names that weren’t theirs and forced inside. What had the driver done? Where did all these people come from?

I stopped when I saw a familiar face. It couldn’t be, I thought, there’s no way. I saw my brother being restrained by two men who were trying to keep his arms down. He was dressed for work.

What have I done?

I kicked one of the men in the shin, and the other threatened to drug me if I didn’t calm down. I tried to turn around and wiggle my arms free to no avail. I stopped when something in the woods caught my eye.

There was a set of eyes, a face, a person staring back at me. Eyes like mine. My sister, dressed in all white, was staring at me through the trees, shaking like she was sitting in a bath of ice. Fear struck her face when our eyes met.

What has she done?