Carmichael brought himself to his feet, the feeling of air slipping through hid numb fingers made him shudder. He was free at last. As he turned his attention away from his now tingling fingers, he focused on the open door that led to the halls of the asylum he had been dragged through so many years before. He could still feel the cold steel of the trolly that he had been wheeled in on, the tough leather of the mask that kept him muzzled. He had been infuriated, and the sound of screams and the smell of feces and urine had not helped. He took a step, wobbling at the feeling of moving for the first time in so long. He stopped and regained his balance. “One foot in front of the other...” He mumbled, sand till wobbling like a newborn doe struggling to its feet for the first time, he balanced himself on the frame of the now open door and began to take normal steps. He took a large step forward and almost fell when he felt how unimaginably odd it was to walk after being stationary for all that time. “Geez, baby steps, Carmichael, baby steps” he wheezed, out of breath from just a few simple steps. He studied his surrounding, he had just entered an entirely new area after all, and the sight of the dingy white walls of the hallway where almost comforting to him. “Hello?” He called out. No answer. “Shit... Whatever, i’ll just have to find someone close by.” He said to himself, still walking, tripping ever so slightly every few steps, attempting not to fall with every slip. As he walked further down the unfamiliar corridor, which was surprisingly empty of any doors or signs, just a long hallway with the same, bland, white wallpaper, he began to stop slipping and started to walk normally, taking his hand off the wall as support, he walked on. He strutted at a normal pace down the hallway, which just seemed to go on and on, so after what felt like an hour of walking, he had had enough. “What the fuck is going on?” He said, turning around. The door to his cell was right behind him, and in blood red on the wall above it were the words “You Forgot Something”.
He slowly walked towards the room, crouching slightly, the odd position causing him to wobble a little, but he managed to keep his balance. As he moved a bit closer he saw drops of blood leading in a sort of trail into his room. “Seriously, what the fuck?” He said, eyes wide and mouth gaping. As he moved into his room, he saw that there was a beautiful, silver razor covered in blood on a small table across from where he had been sitting, along with a mirror. His eyes got even wider as he saw his old razor, shining in the light. The grimace upon his face turned into a twisted smile as memories flashed into his head...
Carmichael slowly moved toward the door as he made completely sure it was locked. Pulling his razor from his pocket he put the blade to his skin, and began to slowly cut away at his wrist. “Fuckers...” he said, “Yeah, I bet they’ll ground me when they find me in a puddle of my own blood!” He started not just to cut, but to lash at his wrist, causing blood to spurt across the room, some of the warm liquid covering his arm. He felt himself getting dizzy and sat down, the blood from his multiple wounds pouring down to the ground, making true puddles. He soon got lightheaded and sick, and passed out on the foot of his bed.”
He had remembered waking up in the hospital the next day, and being put in this damn institution a few weeks later, but he still could not remember the reasoning for his institutionalization. “Damn, you are as beautiful as I remember.” He picked up the razor and held it in front of him in the light. It jagged, rusty edges affected by the oxidation of the aging metal. He picked up the mirror, and saw that evem after all this time, his face had only collected a dark stubble, but nothing that he couldn’t handle. He saw the greasy, black heap of hair on his head, and brushed his hand through it, the dirty, yet soothing feeling making him tremble. His dirty hair may have contradicted the overall clean feeling he had, but it was certainly not the strangest happening he had seen anytime recent. He slicked his hair back with his spit, and put the razor and small pocket mirror into the small pouch on the side of his pants. He turned to the door and to his horror, there stood Elizabeth Kingsley.
