You had been in the mental institution for maybe about six years now. When you were five you had unfortunately been diagnosed with schizophrenia. At first it had been manageable, but as you grew older it began to get more severe. So severe that whilst you were in an episode you had tried to stab your own mother, thinking she was one of the horrifying creatures in your head. You were a danger to yourself and other, and that lead to your mother reluctantly handing you into the care of professionals, however she cried for weeks when the house was empty and quiet without your presence.

Now you were fifteen, six whole years of being surrounded by white walls and insane and weird people. But today was one of your favourite days. Every two weeks on a Saturday, Ghost, your older brother, would come down to the institution to see you.

Silently, your both sat in the sensory room, he was leaning against a wall whilst you sat on a beanbag in a straight jacket since your doctor didn’t really trust you around people when you had your hands free.

Ghost watched as you stared at the fish tank, watching the small fish’s swimming through the fake plastic plants of the tank before he moved closer to you, sitting on a beanbag besides you as he looked at your face, studying your expressions.

“..So, how do you feel?” He suddenly asked, gently nudging you shoulder to grab your attention. “I was up in the attic a few days ago, I found your old shark plush; thought you’d want it.” He continued as he placed the plush in your lap, sighing quietly as he pulled you closer to him.