Some told me that I was crazy about the monstrosity that I had created with my own hands, but no one saw all the effort behind it, much less my intelligence or my scientific or technological skills. Everyone saw a nutty scientist who created a mind controller - clearly that wasn't its only function - and that explains why I am here, handcuffed and guarded 24/7, trapped in these white walls and surronded by people who pretend to help me heal. But they can't, I'm not crazy.
Being locked up there wasn't much to do, I was quite bored. Suddenly, some doctors came in with their characteristic white coat and with food on a tray.
- Might I eat with the others? - I asked whispering.
- No. People like you cannot live with society.
It was the only thing they said before leaving again. People like me? What they mean about that?
While I was eating, my mind started to divagate among the memories of the last years. I remember the emotion I felt when I created my first great invention. I knew it was crazy but not impossible; a microchip which would be inserted in the person, and would not only help detect future diseases, but would also be able to control dangerous people or understand someone's thoughts or feelings. Clearly, the crowd did not care about the benefits that this microchip could offer, they only heard: controller and mind reader. They were hysterical, they revealed. How dark do your secrets have to be for you to avoid this marvellous invention at all costs?
- There are things that are better not to know, things that should remain buried in the depths of memories. - Once our neighbour said me this when I told her my idea of the microchip. Months later she was arrested due to a homicide that occurred before she moved to our neighbourhood. Is this what she meant? Did she say it for her or for the others?
Since then, I never told anyone again about my invention, only when I finished it and wanted to show it to the whole world, I didn't know that it will be an enormous mistake.
One day they came to make a strike at the door of my house, demanding that I resign from the project. I refused. They took my wife and children hostage, they stained their hands with the blood of my family, and then I am the crazy one. Hypocrites!
I remind the screams of my children, Alana and Henry, calling me from the distance.
My wife, my lovely Elena, crying uncontrollably. My blood boils just remembering it.
- Maybe you don't understand Thomas, but this is for your good. You must be controlled and guarded, but don't worry, it will be temporary.
The sheriff lied, I don't remember how long it's been since I last saw the sun, perhaps it's been months or years.
I tried to denounce what happened in the strike, the death of my entire family, but the sheriff took me to an asylum, apologizing himself that I needed it, that in a few months I would appreciate it.
Sometimes he had come to the psychiatric hospital to see me, his visits were not pleasant since they reminded me of the day when they put me in this hell but I could not do anything else.
- Oh my God! You look horrible, just look at those black dark circles, you look thinner than the previous time, are you sure he eats well, nurse? - he asked to the nurse next to me. She nodded.
This kind of things happened often, I learned to shut up and pretend that everything was fine, that the workers didn't treat patients like litter or that I had been present in several electroshock therapies, it was horrible.
- If you don't behave as God commands, you will be the next to try it. - They threatened me.
I shouldn't be here, I wasn't out of my mind, I was fine.
The sheriff 's visits got less frequent but he became more unbearable over time.
- Guess what, everyone is still talking about you, you're a popular monster! Definitely, you should've shut up when you could. All this shit is your fault, your family is dead because of you.
My body began to shake with rage, I looked at him with crazed eyes. I wanted to kill him but I couldn't, I was handcuffed. What a pity. I just shut up and closed my eyes in an attempt to calm down.
When they locked me in my cell, I began to cry. He was right, I am guilty. Something inside me prompted me to think the opposite, that everything happened for one thing and that nothing is by chance. This had to happen and it did.
If someday I get out of this asylum, I will continue with my project. I will carry on with my life. I deserve it, because I'm not nutty, I am just misunderstood in this dark society.
