A fault of three, the King, the Queen, and their Joker. It started with a question, Who are you? And it continued to a: What are you? It lead to their questions: who are you, what are you, and what am I!? To one another and to each other, complete...
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They were saying I would get out in a couple weeks, because I had finally admitted that I had monsters in my head. Two of them to be exact, but they weren't really monsters. They just lived in my head and in my world. Popping up at the most random times.
I didn't have a lot of hope, everytime they had come to visit they always had talked about getting me out at the end of the week. Releasing me back into the streets of Berlin.
The they, consisted of my mother Maria Grismore and eldest brother Amerry Grismore. The mother and son looked at me from across the table in what could only be pity. Frowning faces and saddened eyes, scowling,judging, and ashamed of what say before them Both of them standing and not sitting, I couldn't blame them. The Grismore family was a proud people of Berlin, high aristocracy to, part of the old trade dealing with the Queens business.
It could have also been the chairs. The chairs at the ward were highly uncomfortable. Metal frames covered in thick mustard colour plastic. And an ugly shade of yellow it was, It was quiet with my mother and my brother standing in the dim florescent light next to the doctor. Not the kind of quiet in which crickets could be heard chirping, because we were inside but the sound of the fan, and breathing. Scratching of a pencil on paper and murmurs of secrets between a doctor and a mother.
The irrenarzt (shrink) was speaking to my mother in a quiet voice like he was being careful not to upset me. A poor, fragile patient in his nut house. A manic. "Er muss sorgfältig zu Hausebehandeltwerden." (He will need to be handled carefully at home. ) the irrenarzt spoke softly to my mother, a hand blocking me from seeing chapped lips move. As of I could read lips or care what they said.
They talked as if I wasn't in the room, and like there was something wrong with me! In a sense I had become desensitized to that ordeal. Even at twenty I was not capable of controlling what happened to me. They had threatened everything, just because they thought something was wrong. That I would be capable of hurting somebody.
I looked to Amerry who was looking ahead, at the nothingness. He did that alot, listen but not look. Or he would really be lost in his thoughts. He must've felt I was looking at him, to him. A younger brother in need for his role model of blood. His head turned and I looked down onto the dark wooden surface that represented the table.
I looked away because of that shame. He must've thought I was some nut job for being locked up in this place. I heard him move toward me, one step, two steps. Heavy feet, pounding the ground just from a step or three. From the corner of my eye he pulled up a chair and sat next to me. He didn't say anything, just watched me as I watched him from the corner of my eye.
