Men in White Coats

It was cold. The icy breeze seemed to reflect off the white marble walls around me. There was no door behind, just the faceless, blank stare of the gray-streaked wall. A soft chattering of voices echoed hauntingly from down the hall. The scent of sterilization filled my nostrils as my trackless steps reverberated, making my mind swim in and out of consistency.

The man stood before me, his muscular frame draped in a spotless, white coat, flawless brown hair trimmed to a neat buzz cut, his firm, sculpted facial features pulled into a wry grin. Piercing orbs of emerald pressed uneasily into me as his deceivingly warm smile embraced me forcefully.

I could feel the patter of his footsteps bouncing off my ribs. The dull glow of the florescent lighting bathed us in an obscure, pale deception as dozens of doorways passed down the sides of the opaque halls. I felt as old as God Himself, passing those same pale men whose decrepit arms reached towards me unerringly, their identical yet perfect complexions twisted into devious smiles. The syringes lay empty at my feet, their former hosts stalking the rooms around me, their frail forms draped in those same white robes.

The door closed behind me, the iron latches clicking shut in undeniable affirmation. He stood before me, deeply tanned skin speckled with crimson patches, tufts of hair bounding past broad shoulders. I collapsed to my knees, my back bare and pressed against the cold steel of the exit. He stared at me, my reflection kept in his gaze.

Several more of the pale men came before me, similarly dressed in pallid coats, those identical buzz cuts and pressing stares stabbing deeply into my wounded mind. I could feel them encircling me, my voice trembling and unable to cry a protest to the swarm of them pressing into me. My surroundings fell black against the horde of white.

The tan man stood against the wall, his arms up, staring down at me solemnly in a gaze that never left me. I was his all at once.