You should be a comedian...

The asylum was painfully silent that afternoon. Justin somehow found comfort in the other patients screaming and wailing that they’re not insane, and that the doctors just didn’t understand. He leaned back causing the comfy chair to recline.

“Damn, I could use a cigarette…” Justin said under his breath.

‘If you plea insanity you won’t spend a life in prison, and get sent to the chair.’ He recited what his lawyer told him.

“What you ceased to mention was the fact that I’m spending a life in an asylum, which is almost worse than getting sentenced to death.” He said and made a grab for a grasshopper, but it quickly leapt out of reach before his fingertips even grazed its wings.

“Justin, honey, your sister is here to visit.” One of the ebony skinned nurses warned him, and he heard the repetitive clicking of his twin sister’s two-inch-too-high-heels on the stone path.

His sister was a tall, frighteningly thin woman. She was often in unstable abusive relationships and had a bad drinking problem. She dyed her hair nauseatingly bleach blonde and wore too much eyeliner and mascara. When she visited Justin she would wear the same ripe-red pumps and skimpy black dress. Justin was convinced she didn’t have a very large variety of clothing attire.

“Hey Justin.” She grunted and sat across from him with a ruby red lipstick stain on the end of a cigarette.

“You’re not allowed to smoke here, Vanessa.” Justin waved his wrist, trying to shoo the smoke away from him.

“Oh, shut up; you of all people giving me morality advice.” She laughed briefly before what sounded like coughing up a lung.

“You should be a comedian after you’re done being a prostitute.” Justin said while avoiding eye contact.