Dear "Doctors",
Doctors. If that what you want to call yourselves. You're all just jokes. You are monkeys with a few stethoscopes. As if any of you can spell that, let alone know how to use one.
I would laugh openly at you when you give tours to the weak minded and easily fooled humans, but given that I was put in the Blue Room the last time, I have no desire to do so again. However, I still find it greatly amusing that people fall for your lies and tricks. If they knew what you do to us behind that Green Door you would be in lynched.
Oh how I would cheer. I would kiss a toad just to watch you all suffer. The thing is, I don't need to. I will ruin all of you. R says it's just part of my nature to be fatalistic. That I was bred that way. I don't mind. It's more fun this way.
I love to watch everyone squirm when I describe what I would do to them. I will revel in the squirms and screams all of you "doctors" will give off when I do to you what you have done to us. I might not be able to do everything. But I can find some tools that could help me replicate the feeling.
Remember always,
Silvia
YOU ARE READING
The Institution
Mistero / ThrillerLetters written by two (possibly more) "patients" at a late 1800's - early 1900's women's mental institution. My friend and I are writing this together. Updates will be random. Sneaky references to songs and books published before and after the time...
