He rubbed the sweat off his head when he woke up from his nightmare. This was the third time he had it this week. He sat up and began walking around to ease his mind from the fear it was in.
Henry Banker was his name. He was large in size and had a 5 o'clock shadow that felt like sandpaper. He scratched the back of his head as he tried to forget the same haunting face of... Her.
It happened twenty years ago. He killed a woman that he claimed was acting hostile, but he knew the truth. He killed her so he could take the money she collected in a safe. He killed her not in hatred, in greed. He couldn't tell anyone, they would think that he was blaming himself for an "accidental" murder.
His wife woke up and looked at him, confused. "Honey, is that you?"
He had been married to her for the last fifteen years and she believed everything he had said to her. He couldn't tell her, even if he was forced to. He nodded and walked out of the room. Since the kitchen was nearby, he would get a drink of cold water and go back to bed, thinking of happy thoughts before he drifted into a deep slumber. He took a cup from the cupboard and filled it with the filtered tap water from the kitchen sink. The water slid down the side of his mouth as he chugged it.
After drinking, he walked to his room rubbing his eyes from the drowsiness he has been given. He entered the room and saw... Her... standing there, waiting for him. She was his wife's clothing and had blood from several bullet wounds. The exact spots he shot her at. She looked exactly how she looked when it all happened.
"Why did you do it?" She asked him. "Why did you kill me?"
He looked toward the bed. His wife wasn't laying there. When he looked back at the girl, she shared his own wife's face. "Why did you kill me!?" She began to scream with blood spilling from her mouth and nose. "WHY DID YOU KILL ME!?"
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He woke up from his trance, back at the mental institution where he was for the last twenty years. He repeated the same words his now-dead wife screamed in his nightmares.
Tied in a straitjacket with a muzzle over his mouth, he fell backward onto the cushioned floors and shook frantically. "WHY DID YOU KILL ME!?" He screamed. "WHY DID YOU KILL ME!?"
When the guards arrived and held him down with all they're strength, they injected him with a sleep medicine that would knock him out for several hours.
After being given his douse of medicine, he feel asleep like nothing happened.
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He rubbed the sweat off his head when he woke up from his nightmare. This was the third time he had it this week...
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Bughouse definition: Another term for Insane Asylum.
