Blossom Asylum

Chapter 2

Clara snapped awake. She wasn't in her house. She wasn't in her clothes. She looked down and saw she was in a short, grey dress. It only went past her knees. It was thin, and Clara felt as if she would freeze in it. She scanned the room she was in.

She was laying in what seemed to be a bed. It wasn't like the one she had at home, more like hard like stone. It was against a wall, she found when sitting up and leaning back. She could see the old, wooden desk sitting neatly in one corner, a matching chair tucked underneath. The walls were a strange, faded grey. There was one small window, higher than her head. No way would that be a way in or out.

She heard a door open and scrambled back. She didn't even realise that there was a door.

In stepped another man that Clara did not recognise.

"Good morning, Miss Jones." He spoke. His voice was so deeply broken that it made Clara shiver. "My name is Professor Hendrix and I am here to help you." He pulled the chair from under the desk to across from her. Clara looked down, very much afraid.

Professor Hendrix placed his hand on her arm. "Miss Jones, are you okay?" He asked, concerned.

"Where am I?" She asked, her voice and body shaking.

"Blossom Asylum." He told her, completely calm.
Clara felt as if the world just fell apart. Her father had sent her to an insane house.

"Now, I need to ask some questions. Please state your full name, age and date of birth." He asked her, pulling his hand away and pulling out a clipboard.

"Clara Isabell Jones. I'm fourteen years old. I was born on the 19th of the 5th, 1803." She told him. Clara watched Professor Hendrix's pencil go across the page, his scribbling handwriting placing down everything that she said.

"And charge?" He must of seen her confused expression. "Reason for being sent here."

"I don't know." Clara whispered. He looked up at her.

"Your father didn't tell you?"

Clara shook her head.

Professor Hendrix sighed, placing down his notebook and pen on his lap looking at her seriously in the eye.

"Your father sent me a letter. He is telling me that your mental state has been, shaken up, after your mothers suicide. He is concerned about the illusions you are experiencing. Your mother screaming even though she died. It's becoming unacceptable. I am here to rid you of your awful illusions." He told her. Clara's eyes widened.

"But I'm not lying! It's not an illusion! My father took her and told her to fake her death-" She was cut off by Professor Hendrix taking.

"I understand that your mother's death is hard for you, but you mustn't blame others for things that are out of your control." He told her. "Now, tell me when did you first start hearing this screaming?" He asked, getting out the notebook and pencil again.

"The week my mother 'died.'" She told him, keeping a dark undertone. He scribbled it down, then wrote something else. She couldn't see what it was. She could make out the word 'treatment,' but that was all she could see before he shut his notebook and looked up at her.

"You shouldn't be reading over at my private notebook, Miss Jones." He told her. Clara crossed her arms and leaned back into the wall, letting her head rest against the cold concrete.

"I will be back tomorrow, Miss Jones. Get some rest." He told her, standing up and placing the chair neatly back under the desk.

As soon as he left, Clara began to sob. No one would believe her, ever.

Why did she even try?