"I'm scared. I'm so scared, my eyes are warm from crying. Mom, don't leave me. Please, let me sleep with you, just for tonight. Please, I'll do the dishes, I'll mop the floors, I'll turn the lights off, please. I'll never upset you again, Mom, just this night."
Bzz.. Bzz... "...Just a bit more..." Bzzzz... Bzzz.. The white flashes. They're back, why won't they just kill me already? They should've given me the death penalty. Melanie got what she was looking for, killing her with the gun would've been too easy after all the hard work she went through just to make me who I am today. Me and the ash tray, it wasn't doing it for me anymore, the smoke could never hide what I felt nor make Melanie go away. I was 15 and I have to admit that I was smarter than any 40 year-old sociopath, if you want to take your time ending someone's life you should punch them in the throat and hammer their knees. For more agony and humiliation, take any kind of kitchen knife, I prefer a small slim one, and gently but firmly shave their skull, then use what's inside of their pearly white noggin' as an ash tray. Finally when their slipping in and out of consienceness, you should finish ceremoniously by cremating what remains of it.
I was declared mentally incompetent and my mother's lawyers got me out of the death penalty and put me into this god forsaken mental "hospital". The last time I saw her was on one of her visits, she said that it was for my own good, that I had to own up to what I did and face the consequences. That her not being there will teach me right from wrong. It'll be 8 years tomorrow, years of foreign objects and dicks invading my most fragile places, months of shock "therapy", hours of enduring the nurse's bites, fists, knees, and occasionally stabbings. You think this would shape up a person, huh?
You see, the thing about shock therapy is that it makes you a bit.. glitchy. Sometimes you're here, sometimes you're there and sometimes you're just not. It helped me cope with the rapes, sometimes I thought I was going for a run, it was nice. What's not so nice is that you suffocated the only person who gave a damn about you. Angie, my room-mate, or rather cell-mate would console me at nights, it helped me through the first few years, but after the shock therapies started happening more frequently I got more paranoic. After one of my night terrors she woke up and draped her arms around me, her exact words were: "I'm here, I'm your Angie, nothing is going to happen as long as I'm here. I'm here, I'm yours, ok?". I thought she was the Mister wanting to make me gag on whatever he planned putting in my mouth that night. I wrapped my arm around her neck, she didn't put up much of a fight, it seemed like she knew.. or as if she was waiting to escape this place, one way or another. I didn't realize I was sleeping with her corpse for a few nights until the staff decided to feed us. That's when the shock therapies got worse, much so that my hair was falling off, sometimes I would feel the burn marks crack open and ooze. I remember, everything and I will not be afraid.
I'm a killer, I am insane, I am Sam and I am awake.
