Keegan Russ

It was a sunny, beautiful day, with a gentle breeze lightly blowing the leaves that the trees had dropped in mid-autumn, the grass bright and the sky blue, clear of any clouds that might hide the still young rays of the sun.

Your steps were practiced and efficiently coordinated, something you had improved with all the free time you had at the psychiatric institution where you had been for the past year. It was a stark contrast to Keegan's own, who stepped more firmly and with a bit of that impatience that always seemed to be there. He had been here for two years, hospitalized—voluntarily, if you could say so—due to his intermittent explosive disorder.

You reached this point at your life because of your bipolar disorder, which had been improving recently thanks to the effectiveness of the new medications you were taking and the routine you were following to stay stable. That's why they've let you spend more time with the other patients, instead of doing activities or crafts to distract your mind.

The patient walking beside you seemed a little calmer than usual, perhaps because of the warm day in the courtyard, allowing him some of the outdoor time he so longed for after a string of storms, or simply because until now you have remained silent.