Killing Me Slowly

~Prologue~

Rain splatters hit the pavement as Timothy walked down the road. On the way to visit his sick bother in the psychiatric ward.

There was no way he could explain his brother's behavior. Maybe he was brainwashed. Maybe he was sick too. Or maybe the world had just broke him. They had a fine home, right? Good income, loving parents, nice family. Or was he just lying to himself like his brother did before going mad?

Whatever it was, Timothy didn't want to find out. He was only grateful that his brother was alive, and all the people he hurt were recognized. He couldn't figure out what drove him down that path. But maybe he was falling down that path too.

Down the dark path with the dimly lit lanterns. The cages on the sides of the trail you could barely see. The howling animals wanting to be freed, and the quiet ones just sitting in the dark. The path of which when you stepped on, your boots got stuck in the mud.

Little strings of wet dirt and clay. Reaching out like little fingers trying to pull you in. The keys on the muddy path way as the rain beats down on you. Some keys are buried, and others right there on the surface.

If you're lucky you can pick the right key to a cage. But only the animals find the keys in the end. However long that may take. If they ever get out at all.

But here we are now. The nuthouse. The crazy jail. Psyche ward. Whatever the people call it. Timothy just likes to refer to it as the hospital. Mainly because he doesn't want to be reminded of the past.

The past is the past, and it will stay in the past, where the past belongs. But why people cling to it so much? Cling to their mistakes in life? Look back and think, why did I do that?

Well, it doesn't matter how much you care about the past. You only have one life on Earth. Spend you approximately 80 years wisely before someone else comes along and cuts the cord to your screen.