A Collection of Stories

New York, Nala, and Black Clouds of Nothing

The air outside always tastes better than the air inside of the Ward.

Probably because outside air is natural, and doesn't have the germs of mine and the rest of my insane pals. And maybe because there is nothing to do at the ol' Governor's Crisis Stabilization Ward except breathe; we've breathed up all the fresh air, if that makes any sense.

Sometimes the nurses will bring in board games for us to play, but they'd never leave the playing pieces for safety procation. Like we'd want to go out by shoving a chess pawn down our throats. I was never allowed to play the games though, the nurses told me that any negative frustration could cause me to have a "mental break".

By mental break they mean my hulk mode, code green, desglose ira, éclater de colère, a.k.a. bad stuff.

This is my third Ward this year, admitted for extreme chronic anger management. Which basically means I'm angry all the time, everyday, everywhere. My moods only consist of different levels of aggrivation; most are violent. I could tell you twenty different ways to get out of zip ties, restraining cuffs, and those little white jackets they put on you to render your arms useless, ie straight jackets. Yes I've been in all of them, and yes I have escaped all of them on multiple occasions. I'll tell you my secret; get angry. Get so mad the only thing you can think of is how you can't even think, feel your heart drop and chest gain twenty pounds, your brain fogs, eyes gloss over, fists feel like bricks, arms feel like logs, you can't even remember why you're mad but you are and that's all that matters: you.

Once you do that nothing can stop you, not zip ties, not restraining cuffs, and not those little white jackets they put on you to render your arms useless, ie straight jackets. Well nothing but multiple security guards carrying tranquilizer guns. That was fun.

None of this matters anymore though. I'm eighteen now, which means I can make my own decisions and sign my self in or out of any Ward I wish. It's all up to me now, what I want, how I want to live, where I want to live. I am very well aware that I am a danger to society, but I can't bring myself to care.

I take a deep breath of the sweet Wyoming air and turn around. General's looms over my head and I stretch my neck to look at the top, a cement tower. All I can see is gray, gray, gray; a gray prison keeping out bright daisy dreams. Not mine of course, daisy's aren't my style, but maybe my nice neighbor Louise who drew on herself with metal when she thought no one was looking. Maybe she would like to dream of bright daisy's.

Where would I go from here? I guess I hadn't thought as far as the black parking lot.

I let out another breath and watched as it circled around me, a white cloud of carbon dioxide dancing into a world of nothing. Was that me?
Dismissing the thought before I thought too much about it I put a foot in front of the other, "I'd be a black cloud," was my closing line before looking back at my cement prison, and sprinting foward onto highway U.S. 278. A road ultimately I would be traveling back on once again.

•••••

I don't remember a lot from my childhood, most of it is blurred together with red sirens and a slur of Spanish. But what I do remember are the hospitals, always being in one. I think it was because I was a dangerous kid and no one knew why I would always bite, or attack other people. I was like a rabid dog I guess, the stray mutt everyone stays away from. Somehow I ended up in a foster care system, I guess my parents were too busy drowning in hospital bills, and as Eminem says, "food stamps don't buy diapers."

My case director always told me that I needed to consider getting help from professionals, but I never listened. I hated her so why would I head to her advice? She threatened to force me in after I was expelled from my fifth school, but she was all talk and too busy with her own life to worry about mine off the clock. The old hag kept to her verbal threats until one day, I can't even remember why, she really pissed me off. I only remember finding clumps of hair stuck in my fingernails while sitting at the police station; talk of face reconstruction, and pressing charges. The next time I saw her, we were both in a court room and she was guarded by men with mountains for shoulders.