"I'm a criminal."

Anne repeated that sentence for the fifth time today. Her head was in turmoil. She didn't know what was really going on with her.

The officer said, she was a 27 year old mad woman who massacred her own family. 

Unbelievable.

Anne smiled wryly. She didn't know what the hospital staff was talking about. She herself couldn't remember how old she was, who her family was and what her background was.

Most of the memories in her head seemed to have been pushed aside, especially the drawer of memories of herself and her family. She couldn't remember anything about it. She only remembered that her name was Roseanne Linn.

Then this morning, when she woke up in the hospital, various accusations had been leveled against her.

"Miss Roseanne Linn will be placed in the Criminal Mental Hospital indefinitely. Miss Roseanne will undergo treatment to recover from her mental disorder. During that time, no one was allowed to visit her."

Anne took a deep breath. The rough thing on her arm made the flash of that time disappear in her head.

"Go out!"

An officer who escorted her shouted loudly. Anne's body was violently pushed out of the car. A gust of wind blew her face. Dimly, she could smell the fragrance of the cherry blossoms that had just bloomed.

Here she is.

Anne looked up, staring at the towering three-story hospital building not far from before her. The building has a classic 80's European design, it's old and looks like it's going to collapse at any moment. A three meter high fence surrounds the hospital. In front of the building, there is a large cross that reads 'Caroline Mental Hospital'.

"Go!" The officer shouted again. Anne's arm was pulled tightly towards the open gate.

"Do you have to act rude like this?" protested Anne. Her wrist ached from constantly rubbing against the handcuffs that locked her hand. She glanced annoyed at the officer who remained silent while kept dragging her in. "Hey, you heard me, didn't you?"

The clerk remained silent, his expression has been unchanged at all. His pulling was even rougher. It seemed there was no point in protesting Anne. This officer was like a robot that had been programmed to just do his job. After all, he probably thought of Anne as a mental hospital patient who does not need to be addressed ravings.

They crossed the fence and the faint sound of the hospital occupies the sound of her ears. Two well-built guards were seen standing in front of the entrance. The clerk beside her gave some sort of code and Anne was led inside.

Her nose wrinkled at the smell of hospital carbolic acid, mixed with drugs, stale food, vomit and alcohol. Her eyes wandered around, trying not to notice the strong smell.

On the right and left, there are prison cells inhabited by several mentally ill prisoners. The right side is filled with women, while the left is filled by men. They seem busy in their own world. Some laugh, talk to the wall, daydream, and even jump up and down unconsciously.

One of the female prisoners stopped laughing as she passed away. She suddenly waved her hands excitedly—almost hysterically, as if Anne was her favorite top artist. Unfortunately, before Anne could reply, the warden outside the cell had already hit the girl's hand.

"Huuuuu! It sucks!" said the girl while sticking out her tongue. The warden didn't respond, but the girl showed her madness even more. She put her ten fingers together to form an imaginary gun, then pointed it at the guard. "Bangs! I shot you!Yeah, hit the target! Stupid!"

The officer who brought Anne just shook his head with an expression that seemed to say 'it's up to you, idiot'.

'What a mess,' Anne thought. And now she is a part of them. She is still confused about what happened to her.

Why can't she remember anything?

Her body was dragged more and more up the stairs to the second floor. Is it a special floor for killers? Anne concluded herself. Seeing how she wasn't placed in the first floor a detention cell. Means the third floor for more violent and terrible convicts. Is it like that?

Laughter escaped Anne's lips at the thought. It's funny and scary at the same time. Indeed, when did she slaughter her family?

All of this is insane.

Ha. Anne took a deep breath. Deep in her heart, she felt restless, confused, as well as afraid of what she was experiencing now.

The officer opened the door to the room numbered 202 on the right and pushed Anne inside. The click of the door being locked sounded behind her. She was locked her alone with her hands still in handcuffs. Amazing.

A frustrated sigh escaped Anne's lips. She walked over to bed at the end of the room.  The white sheets were covered in many dried bloodstains. For a moment, she hesitated to sit there. But in the end, tired, she threw herself down.

She looked around the narrow and dull-looking room. Moreover, because all the walls were painted gray. Apart from the bed, there was only a small nightstand placed by her side. No more furniture. Besides, there is a window covered with rusty iron trellis. There were heavy, yellow white curtains covering the top of the window. In the far corner there was a small door that Anne guessed was the bathroom.

Overall, this room is terrible.

Anne sneered for disapprovingly. According to her, patients will only get crazier with a room like this. At least, they could paint the walls a lighter color like sky blue, pink, or soft yellow. Not boring monotonous colors. This room is more suitable to be called a confinement place, rather than a healing place.

But, well, who would want to do that?Hospitals definitely don't want to waste money just to wash the eyes of pathetic inmates. Oh my, not the convicts, but Anne only.

Pathetic Roseanne Linn.

Anne got up from the bed and headed through the window. She needed some fresh air to clear her mind, before trying to dig up her past memories again. There must be something she could remember.

The officer said some of the memories she had lost in her head were the effect of the antidepressant drugs she was taking. He said, she took the drug continuously, for a very long time.

Her brown irises stared at the little black bird perched on one of the branches of the sequoia tree. She contemplated, for a moment her thoughts seemed to drift away. 

Is it true that she is mentally disturbed?She was so depressed that she killed her own family?

She still couldn't remember what happened. From what Anne heard, it all happened two weeks ago.

Powhatan,

That's what was written on her lawyer's paper. What did she do that day? Just before the massacre happened?

Anne groaned in annoyance. Her eyes were closed as she forced her brain to keep thinking hard. "Try to remember, try to remember, try to remember, " she mumbles over and over.

Is rosella tea brewed in the morning? No. A messy desk? No. Does cream stains on her dress? No. The cat that stole her food? No.

Why did Anne even remember unimportant things?

Anne's head hurts more and more and she finally shook her head hard. Stop thinking. It felt useless, nothing important crossed her mind. Everything was blurry.

Anne's eyes opened, her gaze returned to the same tree. Unfortunately, the little bird has already flown away. Anne sighed in frustration. Both physically and mentally feel tired thinking about all of this.

Again, she asked herself. What really happened to her?