Henry tentatively walked across the bridge that led away from the campus on which he’d spent the last 35 years.
He stopped every few paces to look back over his shoulder. He looked at the building that housed him. Which window was his, he wondered. On which floor did he live?
He thought about the word “live,” and wondered if living is how he spent his time there. Or was he merely existing, surviving from one day to the next.
A few more paces and another look back over his shoulder. There was a chill in the air and Henry wondered why he wasn’t properly dressed.
A few more paces and another look back. This time Henry saw the two men running toward him. He recognized them and seeing them coming after him filled him with both joy and dread.
The two men finally caught up with Henry, each one gently grabbing one of Henry’s arms.
“Henry,” one of the men said, “we were worried about you. You know you’re not supposed to wander off campus.”
The three men started heading back over the bridge toward the campus. Henry saw the familiar sign that read, “State Hospital for the Criminally Insane.”
Written for this week’s Sunday Photo Fiction challenge.