Within The Asylum Walls: Freedom Wakes | ✔

Chapter One - Saint Catherine's

Chapter One - Saint Catherine's

For me, nearly all days at Saint Catherine's began this way. I was lying down on my steel bench, resting but not actually sleeping. The cold and uncomfortable rack hurt my back. A cheap pillow was against my head, filled with flimsy material that would compress with the slightest amount of pressure. My pathetic excuse for a blanket stopped at my knees, its fabric ripped and tattered from times I had torn it to dress my wounds. I noticed this while in my standstill state. Was it really even that? All the while my senses were awake, tingling.

          Possessing hypersensitive hearing was not appreciated as the screeching blare of the morning alarm blasted through my eardrums. I bolted from my reclined position, yet my head hung low from constant fatigue. After rising from the bench, I went to my usual spot on the hard, gray concrete, my body curled into a ball, head in hands. Even with so many years past me, I wasn't sure which felt better, the steel or the concrete. Not a minute later, a patrol officer made his rounds. He paused in front of my cell door, and after peering inside, he continued to walk, the sound of his military boots echoing against the walls.

          As per usual, following morning inspection, a uniformed woman delivered my ration through the free space at the bottom of the cell door, glowering at me as she did so. The stench of grub found its way to my nostrils. The smell made me retch. It was disgusting, but I had to eat it. I had to survive. I stuffed the food down my throat, knowing that these portions would sustain my thin body. But I was thirsty.

          I was always thirsty.

          With rusted hinges scratching my ears, the cell door was opened slowly. Occupying the doorway was He. I did not know his name. He never told me, and I personally didn't care to learn it. I was beckoned by his long, bony forefinger. I got up and followed him, hate burning through me. Impulse urged me to attack him and leave this horrible place. But I knew better. He always carried a GP, and I wasn't going to risk getting myself injured. Or killed.

          We walked down one of the many narrow hallways. I felt squished, as there was only about a foot of space between my sides and the surrounding walls. I've tried mapping out these halls, but the corridors meld into one another and it becomes a blur. There was more room when we made it to one of the testing rooms. Two tall humans in bright white uniforms bound me to the iron chair in the center of the chamber. They pressed the leather straps around my wrists and arms. They itched and stung with remnants of garlic.

          He came towards me, a light green vial clutched in his gloved hand. I knew that syringe all too well. It was garlic extract, and he was about to inject it into my arms. Though I'd gone through this experimentation for years, each time felt like melting from the inside.

          "Not today. Not today! Please, let me go!" I cried out, desperate to get away, somehow, anyhow.

          "Shut up," one of the wardens said to me.

          I ignored him, continuing to beg until a hard palm landed against my face.

          "I said, 'shut up'," he repeated. I quieted after that, licking the blood welling in my mouth.

          But I couldn't keep from crying out. I looked at this man, hoping to see a shadow of sympathy, but he remained baleful and cold with his expression. My whispers turned to screams as the needle pierced my skin. My muscles struggled against the straps. But it was useless as I became weaker by the second, the exertion causing my body to spasm uncontrollably. On and on this went, and He wrote down observations in his notebook, face passive. After what seemed like an eternity, the pain subsided into minute stings. I slumped in the chair, all energy gone from my body.