Creative Writing Assignments

Quick One Shot

          I wake up and run my fingers through my short red hair. Another night of 3 hours of sleep, another day in my own personal hell. Pulling myself up from the comfort of my warm cocoon of safety, my feet patter across the cold, unforgiving. linoleum floor. Flipping on the light switch of the bathroom, I flinch. I gaze upon my dishevelled appearance in the mirror and inwardly cringe. Small purple bags have formed below my light brown eyes adding to the horror that is my face.

    I gag as I take a deep breath, the smell of disinfectant filling my nostrils. Everything is too clean, too sterile. It’s unnatural, I hate it. I climb into the shower and turn on the water, gazing upon my body with a slight feeling of disgust. I grab a washcloth and pile on a generous amount of body wash. I scrub at every inch of skin, trying to make the feeling go away. Everything around me may be too clean, but I’ll never be clean enough.

    I climb out of the shower and attempt not to hiss in pain as the soft cotton of my towel runs along the now irritated, red skin of my body. Still not clean enough but I suppose I can take another shower once I get back. I slip on a loose hoodie and baggy jeans, careful of my irritated skin. I go to brush out my hair and look at my face in the mirror. My once bright Carmel coloured eyes are now dark and filled with pain. My once full and slightly chubby face is now hollow and empty with the lack of nutrients.

Frowning, I always frown nowadays, I walk out of my room and into the hospital hallway. I make my way towards the computer lab so I can catch up on some of my school work. I am a junior after all. I can't have my grades deteriorating even if I myself am slowly deteriorating in a mental institution. My good grades are one of the few things I still have to fall back on.

I make my way to my usual seat next to Margaret. She's quiet, that's why I like sitting next to her. She has dull blue eyes and fading dyed black hair. They don’t let us have hair dye here. Along with an extensive list of other everyday items. Even when in a hectic mental hospital, she stays calm and collected. Or I suppose you could say as collected as a mental patient's mind could be. As we sit through torturous hours of trigonometry and history lessons, I look over at Margaret and notice that her eyes have begun to slightly droop as well.

Turning in my seat, I look towards the burly guard peering at us from the door. He raises his thick, caterpillar-esque eyebrow in question and I gather the strength to speak, though it's with an unattractive and slightly croaky voice..

“It's been about four and a half hours. Can we please be finished for today? You know we work on Saturdays too so we won't get behind.”

          He sighed while looking into my pleading eyes, “Lizzie, you know that the average school day is seven hours. I think you can make it through.”

          My frown deepens and I'm ready to start begging at this point, “But Greggggg,” I whine. “I thought you said I was your favorite patient. What happened to that? I thought what we had was special.”

Greg rolls his eyes at my childishness and opens the door to let me, Margaret, and a few other patients out of the lab.

“You got me there, kid. Just don't let the higher ups know okay? Don't want this to be the last time I see you, do you?”

“Greg, you know I'd never tell the higher ups. They think I'm crazy anyways.” I wink at him and start skipping down the hallway to my room. I quickly grab my sketchbook and walk to the rec room while I wait for my daily visit from my parents. I finish sketching out the rose I was working on when I hear a worker call my name.

I walk over to them as they lead me to the visiting center. It's almost like a prison if you think about it. But instead of cold plastic chairs, we have squishy leather ones. I quickly make eye contact with my mother and she looks at me with sad, stress filled eyes. My father has yet to notice my appearance, too busy gazing at the chipped paint that hangs to the cement wall by a thread.