Being Honest With Fiction

Blades from the ceiling fan spun beneath lights and flickered in shadows against the white cinder-block walls.I’ve had this dream before…I know exactly where I am.But I don’t know why and I’m not sure how I got there. The sound dulled into low volumes of electricity.All l heard was a buzzing sound..I heard the sound of a soft metallic hum given off by the overhead fluorescent lighting.And if you don’t know, then I guess you wouldn’t know what the sound of fluorescent lighting sounds like.But I know. My left wrist was cuffed to a galvanized pipe, which ran beneath a wooden bench.This was to keep me still.I’ve been there before.In the holding cages.I was here more than once, if I’m being honest.But not in a while.There was a cold and haunting feeling inside this place, which was otherwise something of a booking station or a legal waiting room that separated me from the place I was before. Sometimes the dream shakes me.Sometimes, I think the dream is real.I found myself thinking and…