Black Knight #6

I've spent the last three months in this dingy room in the basement floor of the Hope County Psychiatric Ward. This place looks like it hasn't been redecorated since the Taft administration, but I don't mind. The meals are pretty gross here, and there's really no company to speak of; they don't let me interact with anyone else who lives here.

The space I have to live in is not very big. The doors to this room, except for the one that leads into the bathroom, are heavy steel; they put them on really fast when they had to move me in here. I guess they're secure enough. I'm not particularly mighty or strong, so it's not like I'm going to make an attempt to break them down.

The food, though, the food is the worst. It's laced with this weird drug that they say keeps me from entering REM sleep and deep dreaming.

About two years ago, I realized that every time I remembered my dreams, everything in them came to pass in a matter of days. Sometimes this was pretty cool; I'd dream about doing well in a job interview and I'd nail it, or I'd dream about sleeping with a beautiful woman and I would. Other times, though, I'd have dreams about disasters, tragedy, and they too would all happen. Of course I told no one about this.

But all the same, one night after dreaming that the President had been shot, I spent all day holed up in my apartment, scared half to death that someone would find out. That night I dreamed that they did, and so they came to lock me up less than a week later. They put me here.

Why the psychiatric ward?

It's not that they think I'm crazy or insane or anything; they know it really is happening. No, it's just that denying you REM sleep to prevent any more of my dreams from happening means your brain never really rests. And you slowly go crazy. So they put me here, in advance, with these lamps, just as a sort of "early bird" thing.