My long, dark hair fell down around my shoulders. Sitting in front of a room full of people who could care less if you saw the light of day ever again could make you feel sick to your stomach.
And that’s exactly what it did. The room was spinning, and questions kept flying at me. I answered them to the best of my ability, but my shaky voice and pounding head ache made anwering difficult. I could tell the defendant was getting aggravated with me; however I couldn’t help that my mind was elsewhere.
The image of my boyfriend’s dead body had haunted my mind for weeks. Every night since it happened I have had nightmares where I wake up screaming. The same plotline follows each dream, though. In each dream, I have a knife in my hands. In every dream, the knife ends up in him. From the time the knife slices into him to the time I wake up screaming, blood pours out of him, soaking me, and drowning me. I wake up drenched in sweat, which only scares me further because I think its blood. Even thinking about it makes me wish I was dead. I just want the whole thing to en-
And I’m yanked out of my morbid thoughts.
“Miss Sierra, since you don’t seem to want to cooperate with me,” the defendant began, “I will have to ask you to come off the platform.”
Something inside me clicked that very moment. “I didn’t kill him,” I spoke softly. The words tasted like metal in my mouth. “You know what killed him?” I asked a little louder. “The knife killed him. The voices killed him.” I murmured, beginning to tremble in my seat.
I picked my head up sharply, and I was about to say something else before my lawyer stepped in.
“Do you hear her? Your honor, you can’t punish her,” he said loudly. “She’s insane.”
Insane. The words hit my ears like a freight train. I shook my head, but the judge slammed his gavel down before I could speak. I exhaled sharply and I was called off the stand.
My lawyer took my hand and led me back to our table. It was littered with papers: newspaper headlines, articles found online, you name it, it was here. I cleared myself a spot and laid my arms down. I rested my head on top of them and stared down at the table. Insane.
I’ll be locked up, I immediately thought. They’ll have you in a strait jacket, locked behind steel and iron bars, with no food and a rusty bed. There will be blood on it too, from past victims. You’ll be tested on and treated like scum. The voices took over. Each one was eerie and high pitched.
I shrieked quietly in my seat, but my lawyer heard me. She laid one hand on my back and rubbed his thumb in small circles. I felt his presence draw nearer to me, and I heard him whisper, “They would have given you the death penalty. Insanity, Sierra, it was my last resort. Voices, Sierra, you left me almost no choice.”
Insanity. Insane. Voices. My head was pounding. I lifted it slowly and looked at the judge. The defendant was still speaking; however, the judge raised his gavel again. He slammed it sharply against the bench and stopped his speaking instantly.
“My jurisdiction is for Miss Sierra Wallace to be sent to Penderghast’s Asylum for the Criminally Insane. That is my final verdict.”
The room fell silent and I was escorted out of the building. My mother and father pushed past everyone and came to me.
My mother's cheeks were stained with tears and her eyes were puffy and red. My father looked stonefaced with little emotion, although I could tell he had shed a tear or two. Both of them embraced me at once, stroking my hair and sighing softly. I wrapped my arms as best as I could around them, however I had small shackles put on my wrists once I got out of the building.
After a long silence, my mom pulled away and spoke up. "Sierra, sweetheart, this is for the best."
I nodded and replied softly, "I know, mum, I just hope," I trailed off and shook my head. "I'm going to come back as soon as possible, even though I might be 30 years old. I'm sorry I have to leave."
My mother broke down now and cried in front of me. This made my stomach twist, and I embraced her one final time.
"Goodbye mum, dad," I said softly as I was dragged into the back of a truck. This truck would take me to the asylum.
Vroom, vroom, the voices mocked.
The workers shut the door as I waved my final goodbyes, and the vehicle took off.
