Ultraviolet

Chapter 1: Sleeping Pills

(Author's Note: In some places, you will see three dashes in a row. Those are meant to resemble an em dash. I just put them there because there's not an actual character on the keyboard for the em dash, so I would have had to go copy one to paste every time I wanted to write. It was easier for me to replace them with three dashes.)

My mother had tried to convince me that living in the institution for some time wouldn't be as bad as I was making it out to be. She was always a very optimistic person, which I admired for quite some time, but as I got older, and began to experience these tragedies, her attitude became more of an annoyance than an inspiration. She was also not very knowledgeable about the effects of common medical practices to "help" those with mental illnesses. Because I lived with hundreds of mentally ill people and talked to them all the time, I knew what kinds of things the doctors did to them. A lot of the friends I had made in my time there died because of the risky procedures doctors tried on them. I never became very close with any of the patients, however, so their deaths did not affect me too greatly.

The day everything went downhill was one of the days my mother had come to visit me.

"Dianne?" she called when she entered my room.

"Yes, mother?" I replied.

"I wanted to talk to you about a possible treatment for you, dear. The doctors say they want to do a lobotomy on you. I know it may sound scary, but I promise it will help you recover."

"I don't even know what's wrong with me! Why don't you just tell me? If the doctors want to do a lobotomy on me, I at least deserve to know why!"

"Honey, I only want the best for you. You must understand that it's only for the best that you don't know yet. I am only protecting you."

"Protecting me? You haven't seen what happens to the people here, mother. Every single time someone has a lobotomy, they die a few weeks later," I retorted.

"Darling, I know that, but the doctors say they have figured it out! They know what they were doing wrong, so the procedure will be a fully-safe process. Please, Dianne, you have to trust me. I only want you to get better!"

"You don't care about me, mother, just like how you didn't care about Clarence. If you did, you would have never let him die."

I took it too far. Tears welled up in my mother's eyes.

"Oh, I see," she mumbled.

She turned around and walked out the door silently. The sound quiet sound of her heels clicking down the hall made me regret what I had said. I still believed it, but I hated that I said it to her. I knew how sensitive she was about that topic.

"Why? Why did I say that?" I whispered to myself.

The thought of how my mother must feel was almost too much for me to bear. I stormed out the door, checking the shelf right outside my room. Sleeping pills. That's what I needed! I just wanted to forget what had happened. You can't think when you're asleep! I hurriedly scanned the shelf. There! I spotted a small, white bottle of pills that had a name which I recognized. Those would do the trick. I took two of the pills without bothering to read the directions. I swallowed them with ease. I was used to taking medicine by then, so I was able to swallow most pills without liquid to wash it down.

I walked back to my bed with shame. I shouldn't have been taking pills without permission, but I knew the nurses would never allow me to take them if I did not actually need them. I threw myself onto my bed, wanting to disappear.

I thought of Clarence, and I was reminded of how dearly I missed him. I shouldn't have been so vengeful, but I was determined to kill whatever thing could be so evil as to end his life. He had so much to look forward to. He was a brilliant child, and I always knew he would grow up to be something great. I partly blamed my mother, for not watching over him. Sometimes, I blamed myself as well, and for the same reasons.

I thought of Elizabeth too. She was the most gentle, caring person I had ever met. She always believed me when I would talk about my dreams. I had a feeling she never truly took what I said seriously, but listened anyway, which I will always be thankful for. Without her there to listen to my nonsense, I was worried that I would explode if I wasn't able to vent. This concern didn't ever end up mattering anyway because I stopped having the dreams that I wanted to tell people about. I only had dreams of Elizabeth, perhaps because my mind had made a connection between her and my dreams, and that link was only strengthened after her death. Every night I dreamed that I was trapped in a pitch black room, and I could see Elizabeth in the distance, as I mentioned before. She was staring at her reflection in a puddle. I tried to call out to her, but she never seemed as if she was able to hear me. I always prayed to have that dream, in hopes that eventually, I would be able to reach her.

Amidst my thoughts, a darkness began to grow before me. I could feel myself being dragged into the depths of slumber, but it didn't feel like normal fatigue. I knew something was wrong. I tried to fight it, but my vision became hazy. There was no turning back. I surrendered to the darkness.