Seven Flies

It rested heavily on a hill like a paperweight on a feather.  At dawn its silhouette looms over the lush meadow, speckled with colorful flowers and decorated with trees.  It was secluded from any big city or small village, providing the perfect security from escaping patients.

 Yet it was a place that sat tall in these plains like a king on his thrown, overlooking the sure inhabitance of this natural valley.  Such a beautiful place for a madhouse.  It casts shadows that can stretch as far as the meadow itself and considers the fog a comforting blanket of refuge from all curious eyes.

Meadow Peak Asylum holds 157 cells and is guarded by 265 armed men all hours of the day.  There are 156 patients who let their sulks soak into the walls of the halls and cells to carry throughout the house to be heard from the living. 

And the dying.

 On April 26, 1942, the 157th cell will be filled at long last – the last vacant slot of the asylum.

“We are all losers in life.  It will kill every single one of us in the end.  Even the people outside of these walls crawl and clamor in the streets in a manner we all know will quickly crumple up and tossed into the flames.  He who shouts at the other and causes ears to ring, ring, ring…dead ears, dead eyes, dead flies on the window sill…there are seven dead flies in my room, Miss.”

 “Do you want them swept out, Emma?”

 “No.”

 “Why?”

 “They’re mine!  I have seven dead flies on the window sill and they died with me in the room!  I even gave them names, Miss.  I named the seven dead flies on my window sill.”

 “What are their names?”

 Emma stared vacantly at the cold, metal table.  Her mouth was partially open in tired, sore bordom.

“Emma?”

 “No,” she chuckled.  “Their names aren’t Emma.  Emmis isn’t a dead fly.  If she was, there would be eight.”

 “Then what are their names?”

 “Names…names are Pride, Gluttony, Wrath, List, Sloth, Envy and Greed.  Emma is not their name.”

 “Why did you name them?”

 They wanted names.”

 Dr. Irene Shevil heard enough.  She quickly scratched her pen on the old clip board.  After slamming the tip of the pen on the paper, Irene pushed herself away from the table with a heavy sigh.

 “You need to read different sections of the Bible, Emma.  I don’t want our religion to affect you negatively.”

 “What do you care?”

 Irene shook her head and started to walk toward the door out of the therapy room. 

 “Can I keep my flies?”

 “Yes, you can keep your filthy flies.”

 Irene walked out of the room, holding the door open for a fat, pale nurse and a male in a white doctor’s coat.  Without much of a pout, Emma slid her hair to one side of her neck and slammed her head violently on the table.  The male doctor pressed the needle in her neck without struggle.  This was the final test of his creation.

 “If you keep that up you’ll get a concussion!” the fit nurse griped.

 “Concussion, concussion.  I have a concussion.  What is your malfunction?” Emma sang softly.  This verse echoed in the green walls until Emma was walked to her room.  The heavy, metal door to her room slowly swung open.  Emma began to weep gently.