I sit on the floor. The concrete cold on my skin. My mind fills with the words of others. You're insane, they said. What you see is fake, our world is perfect, they said. But they were wrong. So very wrong. Our world is the very definition of dystopia.
My parents took me to a psychiatrist once. They wanted to know what was wrong with me. He told my parents and me that I had schizophrenia. Then he suggested that he speak to me alone. It was so he could tell me more about what it meant, he told them. As soon as the door clicked shut and we were alone he started to speak. "What you have isn't really schizophrenia, it's a gift. You see the world as it truly is. What you see is the real world. Looks pretty bad, doesn't it? " I nodded. it did. It really did. I'm sure it still does. "You have to keep it a secret. Lie if you have to. Play pretend. Tell no one. You're not the only one." He said to me. Then he went to talk to my parents. "To explain it to them too," He told me. I never heard what he told them, but I knew it was different then what he told me.
I was given no medication. No pills, no liquids, no drugs of any kind. I wish I were. To numb the pain. My parents treated me as if I was inhuman. They would shut me in my room for hours, even days. I remember that one time, I was in there for a month.
I have scars on my back from when they would whip me with a belt. It's for your own good, they said. This will make you better, they told me.
They thoroughly believed that I was sick. It was never that I had the flu or anything that could be cured with simple over-the-counter medicines. It was always that I was sick in the head. One night, I heard my parents talking. "This isn't our daughter, " I heard my mother say, "it can't be." I stayed in my room that night. It was one of the few times I was allowed to roam the house and do whatever I liked. But I couldn't bear to be around them. I cried myself to sleep that night and wished that I would never see my parents again. That I would no longer hear their words like daggers. Nor feel them pierce my beating heart.
The next day, I got what I wanted. My prayers had been answered. Or at least, that's what I thought. Had I known that would have landed me a lifetime in isolation, I would have never wanted to leave.
Now I sit here the concrete, like ice on my skin. I think about my life. So insignificant. It has to be. I wouldn't have been thrown in here if I meant something. If I was important. But I don't and I'm not, so here I sit.
I remember when I first came here. It was a few years ago. Screams penetrated the air. Whether from torture or insanity, I still don't know. I was taken, hands cuffed behind my back, to my cell. They released my wrists from their cold metal restraints and pushed me in my cell. Unable to stop myself, I fell to the floor. I was 12.
I have spent the last four years in silence. Excepting the screams that come, not only from me but from the others in the asylum.
It has been roughly 1,460 days since I last spoke. Roughly 1,460 since I last saw another human being. Another living thing.
I don't mind being alone all that much. The only thing that bothers me is that I don't know whether I'm dead or alive. I don't know if any of this is real or if I'm only dreaming.
A metal tin with what I suppose qualifies as food, slides through a slot at the bottom of the door. I sigh and wait for it to cool down. When it does, I eat slowly. I don't know when my next meal will be. There's no schedule. Food comes when it comes. There's no telling.
Lonlieness is like a blanket. It covers you. Perhaps if you like it, even enjoy it, it can keep you warm. But it can also smother you, suffocate you, slip frightening thoughts into your mind. Yes, loneliness is like a blanket. One that I can't get rid of.
I'm sitting in the corner when the door opens. I hear someone clear their throat. I turn around and see a person. I'm afraid of what he'll do. "Don't be scared. I'm not going to hurt you. I'm gonna get you out of here." He says to me.
"I don't believe you," I say. I'm surprised that I can even speak. My voice has changed.
"And I don't blame you. You've suffered all your life. But I am going to get you out of here, Hayden."
"How-how do you know my name?" I ask.
"All in good time. For now, how about we focus on getting you out of here, huh?" I nod. I decide to trust him. For now. Though I'm not even sure I should do that. He could be working for the asylum. He could be working for the Utopians. The people dedicated to making our world seem perfect and making people believe that the web of lies they've spun is real.
"So, " I say, "you know my name but I don't know yours." He looks down at me. Literally, I am after all sitting on the floor. He offers me his hand to help me stand up. I don't need his help but I take it anyway.
"My name is Dylan, " he says, "Dylan Faber. Like I've been saying, let's get you out of here." We walk out into the darkness.
"How do you know where you're going?" I ask. I can't even see an inch in front of my face, so I don't understand how he's not walking into walls.
"I have the blueprints of this place memorized. So I know where everything is. You might want to close your eyes for a second It's a little bright outside." I hear him open the door. A bright white light hits my eyes. Dylan laughs. "I told you it was bright."
I look at him, the sun makes his hair a lighter shade of brown and his eyes are hazel. I wonder what I look like. All I know is that my hair is a dark blonde. Dylan looks at me and catches me staring. I look away bashfully. Right before I looked away, I saw him smile. "Where are we going?" I ask.
"Somewhere safe." He says. "You can trust me you know. I know you don't and I understand why. I just want you to know that you can trust me."
"Okay," I say to him. Maybe I can trust him. Whether or not it's a good idea, we'll see.
We continue on walking in silence until we reach what looks like an abandoned warehouse. " where are we?" I ask.
"Somewhere safe. Somewhere you never have to worry about someone hurting you ever again." He tells me. He looks at me, his eyes locking with mine. " Welcome," he says, his eyes still on mine, " to the Haven." As if one for the doors open. Dylan walks in and I follow him.
Where the outside of the warehouse was decaying into dust and debris, the inside is the opposite. It's full of life. " what is this place?" I ask.
" Hmm..." says Dylan, " how do I put this into words?" He thinks for a moment then continues. "It's a place for those who are the world as it truly is. Like you."
"I'm not the only one?"
"Of course not." And then I remember the psychiatrist I saw five years ago told me the same thing. You're not the only one.
Before I arrived at the asylum i was by the guards that took me. I suffered a painful blow to the jaw and numerous kicks to the back. The would have kicked me in the gut -- and I'm sure they meant to -- but I was doubled over and they couldn't get to my stomach. They finally gave up and hauled me into the asylum.
I remember when I first found the showers. Surprisingly the water was warm and I stayed in there for hours. That was a mistakes. I was nearly dying of pneumonia. I couldn't move. It was if I was tied down to my bed. I shudder at the memory. " You okay?" Dylan asks. I nod. Dylan looks at his watch. He seems to be waiting for something. I see someone running towards us. Not something then, someone. "Alright Hayden," Dylan says to me. " Malibu here will show you around and tell you everything you need to know. Be nice." He says to Malibu.
"Of course, dear brother," she says mockingly, "I wouldn't dream of doing anything other than that." He looks at her. "I'll be nice." She says. "I promise. "
"Is he really your brother?" I ask Malibu.
"No," she answers, " but he's like one. I've known him for a long time. "
"Do you know how he knew my name?" She nods.
"We know a lot about you. Well, we know a lot about your life. Anyway, let's get on with the tour. Shall we?" I nod. She shows me where everything is. She tells me more about who we are and what we do. I say we because, well I guess today I became one of them.
Malibu tells me that here at the Haven, not only are we dedicated to keeping those who see the world as it is safe. But dedicated to one day, usurping the Utopians and showing everyone that what they think is real , isn't.
And I, I can't wait to help them.
