The narrow hallway I walk through feels almost too bright. Though it does not seem to bother the nurse or security guards that escort me to my room, I can not help but squint. Maybe they are accustomed to it, or maybe the white walls reflect the light, making it appear brighter to me than it actually is. Either way, it is making me feel uncomfortable
The larger, black letters on the front of the building read Aurora Falls Mental Rehabilitation Center, but I know it is not a rehab. This is no place for healing, this is an insane asylum, somewhere to store the crazy, dangerous people until their heart stops beating. The reason why my parents sent me here eludes me. I am sane. I am ordinary. I am perfectly mundane. There is nothing wrong with me.
On the painted brick walls, square, plastic labels emblazon the walls next to the paitents rooms. Well, they call them rooms, but they are more like jail cells. A thin mattress on a small bed, a square desk bolted to the wall, barred windows and doors make you feel like a prisoner. The labels are all blank, save for the patients name and a single word; but the word is different for each person. Elissa: Echo. Jonah: Commentary. Ivan: Monsters. And then there is mine. Hanna: Unwind. Unwind? What does that even mean? I open my mouth to ask the nurse, but swiftly think better of it. I do not think I want to know.
One of the guards pulls out a large ring of keys, unlocks the padlock on my cell door, slides the heavy door open, and briskly nods his head in the direction of the cell, as if this is some routine that I should be aware how to execute seamlessly. The look on his face tells me that he is not the type of man you keep waiting, so, with small, tentative, almost hesitant steps, I walk into my cell. I suppose this is my new home. I shuffle over to the bed and take a seat, bouncing on the flimsy mattress to test it out. This will definitely not be comfortable, but neither will anything else I do here. Before the guard can shut the door, the nurse scurries in, a well rehearsed smile plastered on her face. Her expression almost looks painful.
"Here you go, deary. Lunch." She places a small black tray with a bright red apple, two slices of bread with an indistinct condiment smeared between them, and a pityful plastic cup of water. I nod her my silent thanks as she bustles back out, the guards following her suit. I'm beginning to think that all colour has been banned from the building and they were not happy when they found out apples did not come in shades of grey.
The cell is faintly lit, the walls in here matching the walls in the hallway. Looking up, I find the sole provider of light in the room: a flickering lightbulb, dangling from the ceiling by its wires. Already I feel like I am in a horror film.
I let out a sigh, my heavy breath not sounding even half as distressed as I actually am. I fix my eyes on a ripple in the concrete floor, focusing on that one, hardly noticable imperfection. My hands move to the sides of my head, my fingertips massaging my temples.
The sound of a series of inaudible whispers causes me to finally look up. The woman a few cells down oppostite of me is in the fetal position, hugging her thighs to her chest, her lips moving a such a quick pace I can not make out the words she is saying; but whatever it is she is saying, she repeats it, and then moves on to another set of words. She continues to say the same few words over and over again. It, it, it, it. And then she goes to her next word in her phrase, getting quieter each time she repeats the word. Is, is, is, is. She continues to do this and it nearly drives me insane. It took her five minutes just to tell me that it is dark in her cell. I find her label beside her cell door. Her word is echo. And then it makes sense. Echo. She was echoing herself. Every word she said, she said as if she was in a cave, the sound of her voice reverberating throughout the large, cavernous space.
Underneath Elissa's whispers, lays another voice, deeper, more masculine, and also a firmer voice. He speaks with conviction, where as Elissa sounds unsure of herself. The cell one closer to me is where the voice comes from. I find his word, as I did with Elissa. His word is commentary. Once again, I am completely confused. It would be easier if I knew what he is saying. I get up off of my bed and move closer to the door of my cell. The closer I get, the easier it is to understand him. At first, I think he is reading a book, but I get closer, and it becomes evident there is nothing in his hands. Could he be reciting a book from memory? No, the actions he explains are far too simple to have composed a book worth reading.
"He takes a few steps, and takes another breath. He blinks, taking another breath. He keeps taking steps, and turns around, and begins walking back the other way. He takes another breath, blinking all the while." The words he constantly says all sound similiar. They are all just simple descriptions of actions.
I watch the older gentleman, Jonah, pace back and forth, his words depicting a man walking, breathing, blinking, and turning around only to start walking again. It takes me some time before I notice the connection between what he is saying, and what he is doing.
"He walks." Jonah takes a few steps. "He breathes." I see Jonah's shoulders rise, his lungs filling with air. "He blinks." Jonah's eyes briefly close and then open again.
It is as if he is describing what he is doing, almost like a.... Commentary. It all makes sense now. Her word was echo, and she echos herself. His word was commentary and he provides commentary for every little thing he does.
The man across from me is much different than the others. He is silent. He stands quietly, hands at his sides. His word is.... Monsters. What does he do? Turn into a monster like a werewolf? But then, I know. He is no longer silent. And he kneels, cold and terrifyed.. Something grips him in an unyielding and implaceable hold. Ivan tugs and pulls-gasping in his panic, shaken by a monsterous fear. He cries out.
"Get away from me! All of you! Just go away!"
It does not take me long at all to realize that he thinks something is surrounding him more specifically, monsters. He swings his arms around him, trying to get the monsters away that surround him in an effort to attack him, but only in his mind.
I put my hand up against the bar on my door, resting against it. Something stops me. Curiously, my hand no longer looks like my own. Terrifyingly, the skin on my hand is peeling off, the nails chipping away layer by layer. I do not feel a thing as the world around me melts away and I am left alone. The flakes of what used to be my skin flutter away in an invisible breeze. My blood veins retract, like magnets, into my torso. I can not understand is where all my blood went. There is nothing left of me.
