Decisions

You rip your shirt for protection from you and the glass. You get over the shards of glass stuck to the window frame, only receiving shallow cuts on your right arm. The inside of the mental hospital smells of mold and rotten eggs. Around you are a few cabinets teared from their hinges with empty pill bottles on the floor. Your gut feeling tells you to run while you can, but even if you wanted that option is unavailable. Where once stood a plain of grass in the window, is now an empty void. The only way is ahead through the door.