"... gonna die tomorrow," stated the small, gaunt-looking girl sitting on the chair across the desk, while staring absentmindedly at the blue colored wall.

"Who is?" Dr. Connors asked blankly, while drawing a picture of a dog her piece of paper.

"You are."

"What makes you say that?" Dr. Connors asked, repressing a sigh and glancing at the clock. Tick-tock. Forty seven minutes.

"I saw it," she replied simply.

Dr. Sandra Connors has been working at Maple Grove Sanatorium for a week now, seven whole days, and in those seven days, she has learned a lot about Samantha. Samantha, at the age of twelve, was committed by her parents because she suffered from violent hallucinations and delusions and her parents, distraught, couldn't deal with her anymore. Dr. Connors is toying with the diagnosis of schizophrenia at the moment, but is reserving judgement until she had more information about Samantha's mental state. Samantha also appears to be suffering from depression and dissociation, judging from her file which states that she has attempted suicide on at least two occasions, and does not seem to be fully present when holding conversations.

"I'm sure that I'll be fine," Dr. Connors said, glancing back at the clock. Tick-tock. Forty-five minutes.

"Maybe," Samantha replied finally directing her dark eyes towards the doctor.

Dr. Connors tried to turn the conversation in a different direction, "Why do you think you are here, Samantha?" Her eyes flitted to the recent coffee imprint on her new pants, wondering if her dry cleaner would be able to remove the stain.

Samantha did not respond, choosing to instead return to staring at the wall.

"Do you believe that you belong here, Samantha?" Dr. Connors asked, trying again after a moment of silence. Tick-tock. Forty minutes. Dr. Connors was impatient to be finished with this session so that she could finally return home, eat junk food on her couch, and ugly cry over sad movies. It has been that kind of day today. This morning, she woke up to a phone call from her mother gushing about her sister's new engagement, to a man with old money nonetheless, and "Oh, Sandra, why can't you be more like your sister, huh?" Her mother stayed on the phone so long that Dr. Connors was late to work and missed an important meeting. Frustrated from the phone call and irritated at being late, she didn't notice when someone walked directly in front of her causing her to spill her coffee all over herself.

"No," Samantha finally replied.

Halting her wandering mind, Dr. Connors asked, "And why is that?"

Tick-tock. Thirty minutes.

"Because," Samantha said, "I'm not insane."

Dr. Connors paused for a moment, "I never said you were insane, Samantha."

"No, but everyone else here is insane, so people must think I am too." Samantha didn't seem too upset with this revelation, more resigned than anything.

"You are here because you claim to see things that other people don't, and that is concerning. So we want to help you get a better grasp on reality so you can live a happier life." Dr. Connors was not sure if Samantha actually understood what she was trying to tell her because Samantha didn't respond. Holding in a another sigh, and checking the clock again, Dr. Conners tried once again to engage Samantha in a conversation. Tick-tock. Twenty minutes.

The rest of the session was much of the same, Dr. Connors attempting to pull information from Samantha and Samantha never providing anything of real substance. Dr. Connors let out a sigh of relief, when the session, finally, was over and her day was finished, slouching in her chair and putting her head back. She looked around at her office, the blue walls and impersonal decor seemed to be closing in on her.

On the way to her car in the parking lot, Dr. Connors stopped suddenly, feeling eyes on her. She glanced around, and not seeing anyone, she was about to continue walking when a flash of pale skin caught her eye. It was Samantha, staring hard at her out of one of the windows in the Sanatorium. She watched as Samantha slowly raised her hand and gave her a little finger wave. Suddenly discomforted, Dr. Connors gave her a short wave back and quickly looked away and started walking.

Dr. Connor went home and spent the day exactly as she had planned to, on the couch eating junk food and crying over sad movies. She was even more irritated than she was yesterday when she woke up the same phone call from her mother, still gushing about her sister. She's not proud of it, but she hung up in the middle of one her mother's frequent rhapsodies, but she'll just have call and apologize to her mother later. This phone call, of course, resulted in Dr. Connors running late yet again.

Dr. Connors quickly rushes herself out of the house, forgetting her coffee all together, though this was probably for the best considering what happened yesterday. She's speeding down the street in her beat up Chevy, when her ringtone fills the silence of the car and her mother's picture appears on the phone screen. Dr. Connors reached down to hit ignore, but is startled by the sound of a horn and screeching tires. The last thought that ran through Dr. Connors mind, before the truck made impact with her door, was that she shouldn't have hung up on her mother. Tick-tock. Dead.

And everyone, except a small, gaunt-looking girl with dark eyes, wondered why Dr. Sandra Connors did not come to work that day.