Short stories I wrote when I was bored.

"Help."

It's hard when a family is torn apart by mental illness. When such a 'normal' and 'happy' family is destroyed by such a tragedy. Such a young and innocent child affected by the corruption of his precious mind. Mental illness had run in the family a long time ago and they had been free from it for many years. Such a shame that such a beautiful young boy had to be ruined by the voices that now occupy his head. And a long time ago, going back to the 1900's, previous members of the family were treated in insane asylums. As much as those were supossed to be decomissioned, one insane asylum reamined open in the area. Desolate and lonely, far from society, almost as though they were hiding the people that were unfortunate enough to live there. Almost as if they were sheltering all those 'normal people' from all those 'lunatics'.

The poor mother felt terrible for what she had to do. To declare her son insane, it felt like betrayal. You must be familiar with the phrase, "Sometimes you have to be cruel to be kind." This was the phrase that poor, crying mother kept repeating to herself as she held her son back from having a breakdown. Both of them sobbing as the young boy was screaming, begging no one in particular to make it all stop. The only thing his mother could think to do was get the psychiatric help she knew her poor boy needed, she had to, once again repeating that phrase, be cruel to be kind. No mother would want to see their precious child be dragged away to a hospital so isolated from society, but it was best for his current need. She dragged him, kicking and screaming, to the car. Her husband putting in minimal effort, as if unaware of the situation. She buckled up his seatbelt and child locked the car, she couldn't run the risk of him acting out of character and opening that car door. She could barely see the road with her teary eyes, feeling stuck in such a saddening and difficult situation. She was still repeating to herself that this was the right thing to do and that this was for the best.

Upon arrival, the poor mother only sobbed harder. Such an isolated building, sort of similar to a prison. It was heart breaking to know that her son, her wonderful son would have to spend the next however long in a terrible place like this. The inside was argueably worse than the out. Bland, white-washed walls with an eerie silence filling the cold halls. A lady sat silently at a desk, typing away on a computer that looked as old as she was. She looked up at the sudden sounds of people entering the establishment, she had dark marks under her eyes and her face was covered in wrinkles. She looked as though she had seen some things in her time. She let out a heavy sigh before greeting those who had entered.

Welcome to Blossom Hospital For The Insane." She spoke with pure boredom, she must have to say this a lot. The worried mother, with a face now stained with tears, spoke with a distressed tone. She explained her situation in a panicked tone. She quickly gushed about how her poor, young boy had been having such vivid nightmares and those nightmares had become such a real thing for him. So real he had been seeing them in every day life. Hallucinations, such a distressing thing for a child to see. Things, people, creatures, voices. He had been screaming to his mother as though she had some power to stop it all. Such a haunting thing, something that would surely scar him now and forever. The old lady nodded as the mother explained her worrying situation. Her desperate tone made the old lady feel like some urgency should be shown. As soon as the mother had finished speaking, the old lady picked up the telephone and punched in four numbers. The phone rang, it was the only sound now filling the room, other than the heavy breathing of the mother and her son. An inaudible voice spoke over the phone and the old lady spoke back, quietly. Moments after the phone was put down, distant footsteps could be heard getting closer and closer and closer. Then, although the heavy footsteps would imply that someone of an intimidating nature would appear from behind those heavy doors, a tall, yet sweet, looking man dressed in traditional doctor attire entered the room. He smiled brightly, one pf those 'friendly doctor smiles', supposed to make you calmer, but somehow, in this time, in this situation, the only feeling it caused was an uneasy wave to cross over the boy clinging to his mother's leg.