The Torment

One

December twentieth is the day I remember being brought into the asylum for the first time. Like any typical psychopath, I screamed. 

I cried.

 I remember snatching the nurse's hair until she screamed and I was slapped into unconsciousness and thrown into the room.

 The only difference? I wasn't a psychopath. But who would believe a young girl in rags, coming from an impecunious family.

By the time I gained consciousness, I was in a small room, on a bed with sheets that stunk old, turning brown with time. They'd changed me into a white dress, the designated uniform for the insane. For the first few days, I would cry maniacally upon hearing any nurse go by, to catch one's attention and tell her that I wasn't insane.

"That's exactly what an insane person would say" One of them spoke, looking at me bitterly. With time and a week later, I realized that there was no use. I was stuck with my haunting thoughts. Which brings me to the present day, another one that I'll mark in history with red.

The day I met him.

The sky was turning dark as I stared out of the bars of the window, fiddling with the hem of my shirt. The door behind me creaked open and I glanced back to see a nurse appear from behind the walnut wood. She handed me a glass of water and then proceeded to give me my medicines for the day.

"You've been holding up well" She stated with a lopsided smile. I stared at her blankly and then averted my gaze back at the window.

"Do you think I'm insane?" I asked in a low voice. There was silence beside me before she shifted on her feet tensely.

"Everyone's a little crazy deep down," She said. I smiled. Humans and their philosophical ways of saying 'you're not suffering more than us'. I thought. She left the room and I stared at the dark sky outside, it had grown dark enough for the window to show me my own reflection.

With a sigh, I went for the door and stepped into the dimly lit lobby. The main gates of the asylum were locked so patients were allowed to roam free under the bulb's yellow cast .It wasn't much of a muse to see the sufferings but it's better to witness someone else's misery than your own.

The concrete asylum walls stood cold against the faded wood of the floorboards. My feet touched the slightly warm wood as I proceeded to glance into rooms. The first one belonged to an old man, sitting by the window, murmuring to himself. I passed.

The second belonged to a man in his early twenties like me, crying hysterically. His head was covered with patches of hair and wounds, as if he'd been pulling at it.

A loud bang from the door opposite to his caught my attention and I stumbled back. My heart beat sped as one of the doctors rushed to the door and announced a lockdown. I was once again led into my room. But the sound got worse, screams of a woman echoed through the halls.

"You maniacs, goddamn you!" She shouted. There was loud screeching and a thud before the sound stopped. Gaining courage, I opened the door and peeked into the lobby again. There was blood in front of the crazy woman's room but she was gone.

"Terrorizing, isn't it?" I heard a voice and shot my head towards the room across from me where a guy stood. He wore a white button down with black pants. Not a patient. His blonde hair was combed neatly and blue eyes sparked green under the yellow cast of the bulb. He looked young, probably in his mid-twenties.

Certainly not a doctor.

"I've grown used to it" I lied, walking back into my room where he followed.

"I agree, it does get lonely here. You feel like the walls are closing in on you" He looked at the walls like a man who's looking at his childhood home.