“Patient name: Michael Charles. Patient number: four-one-eight. Age: forty-five. Release date: February fourth of the year 2523.”

The Warden called off the numbers as if they were unpleasant school children, of whom he did not want to deal with. He smacked the clipboard on the rotting desk and his belt of keys jingled and jangled. He wiped his nose and stared straight down at Michael Charles. “You think you’re ready to leave this place?”

Michael nodded vigorously, but without a word. He looked down at the slimy stone floor. He watched a small insect scuttle through a dip in the uneven concrete and slip out of view. Michael’s arms were chained to each other and he was standing as instructed– in the chalk box drawn on the floor. If he took one step out of the box during his examination, he would be sent back to his cell and have to wait another year to be released.

The Warden settled himself in an old wheelie-chair. He glided it around to tantalize Michael’s stolid vision and posture. When the Warden drew bored, he returned to the desk and flipped up the first piece of paper attached to Michael Charles’s chart. With fat, grubby fingers, he scanned the pages underneath.

Beads of salty sweat appeared on Michael’s dirty brow. He had the urge to wipe it, but the imposing fat figure of the Warden was a warning not to. Michael resisted and focused on the joy that would come from the end of this meeting. He focused on the first thing he would do once he got out from under the crumbling walls of this prison.

“Interesting,” the Warden mused. He let the papers fall back to their resting place on the clipboard, and he looked up. “I was just looking at your history, Michael. The reason they institutionalized you here. Do you remember what it was, Michael?”

Michael shook his head, finding a spare rock to stare at. It bordered on the lines of the chalk box and the concrete outside it.

The Warden pulled a desk drawer and selected something that looked like a cigarette. He placed it to his lips. With it teetering and tottering back and forth while he spoke, he continued. “Would you like me to tell you, Michael?”