Short Story Type Thing - For English

White washed walls; metal barred windows and the faint smell of disinfectant met my nose and singed my hairs slightly.  Every door was coded and fastened with a lock bigger than my head.  No chance of escaping then?  Not likely.  Patients walked slowly, as if to a heavy beat, blank expressions on their faces, they were searching for something.  But they never found what they were looking for.  Nurses dressed in casual dress, as if not to alarm the inmates, but they were already disturbed.  Medicines were elegantly forced down the throats of the innocent, choking noises echoed all around their empty minds.  There to be cured, but drifting even further over the edge. Dosed up to their eye balls, locked up, their worthless lives stripped of the nothing that’s left.