Mark laid on his bed just waking up from sleep, he looked at the sunlight seeping through the tiny crack in his black curtains and turned away to face the wall, he had come to hate it, light, it made his eyes hurt. He had been sleeping for twelve hours and yet all he wanted to do was drift back into sleep, because in his dreams he was safe,in his dreams it didn't hurt, in his dreams it was peaceful and colorful. He glanced at his bedside clock and hesitantly sat up in his bed, it’s been a week since he had stepped out of his house, that was his routine, stayed in his house all week and go out once every Thursday to see his therapist, he dreaded the prospect but had no choice than to do it if he didn’t want to get locked up again. He walked up to his window and held the thick black curtains that ensured it was always night in his room in his grip, he stood there staring at his hand against the curtain willing it to move and open the curtain, but they wouldn’t move, he was afraid of the outside world, the air, the sun, the people, their voices, their laughter, everything. His hand began to shake and his grip loosened as his will to hide and run from the world overpowered his desire to see what was out there, he dashed into his adjoined bathroom and threw up, his knuckles white as he gripped the sides of the toilet and retched up bile which was the only thing existing in his stomach. He rinsed the bitter taste from his mouth and took out his pills from the medicine cabinet, he looked at the concoction of pills in his hand and did what he did every morning, flush it down the toilet. He stared at the reflection of himself in the mirror 'why does it hurt so much? answer me' he gazed into the dead eyes staring back at him 'make it stop, set me free'

He stood behind his front door hands balled into fists beside him, numb to the pain of his fingernails boring into his palm. He put on his sunglasses and pulled his hoodie over his head, he swung the door open and stood in the doorway, urging himself to take the first step.

“Ah hello sir” he heard the familiar voice of his mother’s driver “your mum sent me to pick you up for your appointment”

Wanting to avoid conversation with the driver was enough to get Mark moving, 'get out of my way' he hurriedly pushed past the driver and pulled his ear phones on as he walked away.

“Ok, I’ll just wait here” the driver shouted after him and shook his head sadly as he watched Mark’s retreating frame.

A flower stand caught Mark’s eye as he was waiting for his bus, he walked over and searched for his favorite flower, he liked them not for their smell or look, he didn’t know what anything really looked like, his whole world was different shades of black and white, he had lost most of his senses when he was five, he had no sense of smell, taste, touch, he couldn’t see color and didn’t talk. It all started one fine spring day when he was five, he had been climbing the willow tree his mom had warned him to stay away from when he fell and hit his head, he was in a coma for two years, woke up paralyzed for another year, he hadn’t spoken a word since then, the doctors had told his mom there was no damage to his vocal cords and that he could speak if he wanted to, they had diagnosed him as a paranoid schizophrenic a few months after he got out of the hospital at the age of nine, and has been in and out of mental institutions since then. He had forgotten what anything looked like and smelled like, and had to relearn everything again and now identified things by shapes, he picked a single rose and paid for it. He turned around and was walking back to the bus stop when someone bumped into him making him drop his flower,