As always, I've read all I could about the latest attack.

It was't the worst one, but then how can you measure? The full effects of forced nightmares were not fully understood, but the suicide rates among affected were very high. And the images on the net, of running crowds, broken glass, people falling, horror in their faces — it was a very effective terror weapon. The responsibility was with Total Freedom, a domestic terrorist organization fighting anything that didn't match their very specific understanding of freedom.

I closed the browser and tried to sleep, I felt cold and restless and it took me some time — and the rain didn't help as it always did.

"Have you read about the latest attack?" asked Mark. "Just a bit" I said "I don't enjoy the details." "Can't blame you — those poor people! And it's happening all the time now. Raises a bunch of questions. You know, I'm not an insensitive person — but sometimes I think we should do a better job isolating the mentally ill from the rest of us. We learned how to heal most of them, right? Is the society such a good idea for the remaining ones, for the true hard cases? Just thinking sometimes. Maybe a hospital would help them better, and no more attacks." "Uh-huh" I said.

He wasn't alone in it. That evening I saw the politicians discussing the Improvements in Mental Healthcare Act for the first time — and it wasn't too far from Mark's suggestion.

I almost kicked the TV.

I went to the bathroom and got the box out. My health registration card that worked like a self-refreshing prescriptions. My pills. For a second, I wanted to throw them away, to flush them, to show all those people how much worse it could be if I didn't do my part. To make them do theirs right.

But then I took two, and the world became bearable again.